


Echidna

by CaughtFeelings



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste Needs a Hug, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Butterfly Miraculous, F/M, Faustian Bargain, Gabriel Agreste's A+ Parenting, Gen, Identity Reveal, Kwami Swap, Miraculous Ladybug PV, Peacock Miraculous, Post-Canon, nooroo needs love, some light necromancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-02-09 12:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 46,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaughtFeelings/pseuds/CaughtFeelings
Summary: Emilie has Miraculously returned, Hawkmoth has surrendered, Chat Noir has retired, and Ladybug is MIA. Everyone just wants to quietly transition back into a normal life, get back to business, and navigate a delicate new relationship between Marinette and Adrien.Suddenly, a new threat arises, and old and new heroes must try to work together to defend Paris. But with how close to home it hits, can any of them be trusted? And where is Nathalie?





	1. As You Wish - Part 1

Haunting piano music echoed across immaculate halls, as Gabriel Agreste took care to minimize the sound his oxfords made across the marble floors. This rendition of the opening theme to _Solitude_ was as perfect as its performer.

He paused by the door to Adrien’s room, and glanced into his sport coat’s breast pocket. Nooroo nodded at him and gave him a small but encouraging smile.

He waited for the end of the song, but another did not begin. Adrien had not been studying his piano in the shower, then. That was good.

Gabriel knocked. “May I have a moment of  your time, Adrien?”

His son opened the door within moments, hope showing Gabriel ghosts of Adrien’s face when it was thirteen. “Please, come in! Or would you like to take a walk?”

“May I come in? The nature of this conversation is private. We should sit.”

A lifetime of modeling had not been enough to disguise the flicker of foreboding across Adrien’s face, though he schooled himself back to his manners almost instantly.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Son, do you feel that our relationship has been… distant?”

“When I was younger,” Adrien said. “Although part of that was simply not understanding the demands on your time. You are very busy and I appreciate how much of your personal time you were able to spend with me, even if you have very little of it at all.”

“I hope to change that soon. Certain projects of mine are reaching their natural conclusion, and I hope to retire soon.”

“This is a surprise! Do you have a new project on the horizon? _Gabriel_ is an international brand, with no heir apparent.”

Gabriel allowed a teaspoon of emotion to seep into his face. “ What I want most is a closer relationship with you. I have missed your boyhood, and you are suddenly a young man. It’s my fault I’ve been so distant. The truth is, I’ve been keeping a secret from you, and I think it’s time to finally tell you.”

Adrien gave his father a smile. “I’m glad that you and Nathalie are finally making it official. You never needed to have hidden it from me in the first place. Mom has been gone for five years now; you two have my blessing.”

Gabriel sighed with exasperation. “Adrien. I am not romantically entangled with Nathalie. While I deeply appreciate and respect her, no one will ever replace your mother for me. I am sorry to have been so distant that you have no reason to disbelieve the scandalous, misogynist narrative circulating the less reputable fashion magazines. This would never have happened if I had done a better job of being a parent for you, and I am sorry to have failed you in this way.”

Adrien was turning a bright red. “No, father, it was my mistake, and an insulting one. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

Gabriel wrapped his son in a hug. When was the last time he had done that? The Style Queen fashion show? That was four years ago. “Son, you know I hold you to high standards because I know you can meet them, and I am sorry that this has made you believe that my love for you depends on being able to perfectly meet them every time.”

Adrien was shaking. Why was he shaking? Gabriel checked. Silent tears were running down his son’s face. He kissed his golden hair, Emilie’s hair, and let him cry until no more tears were left.

Finally, Adrien looked back at him. “That was a good secret, Father.”

Gabriel smiled with affection. “That wasn’t the secret I had in mind either.”

“Okay, I give up!” Adrien said, smiling even more widely. “Nothing is going to be more of a surprise than this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gabriel said, “and it’s important to me that I tell you that I love you before I tell you this. It’s not a good surprise. Hold out your hand?”

Adrien held out his right hand. Gabriel’s eyes lingered on the silver ring on it, a too-important question in the back of his mind, but he forced himself to look away, and took a breath.

“Nooroo, I renounce you. Thank you for everything, little Kwami.” Adrien tensed, and, in response, Gabriel did, too. He only had one chance to do this right. He unpinned his brooch, and, before Adrien could take his hand away, placed it in it.

“Son, I’ve had a Miraculous for four years, and desperation has driven me to use it to terrorize Paris. But it’s too late, now, and Nooroo deserves a kind wielder. Miraculous and Kwami are yours, if you want them; otherwise, I will notify Ladybug and Chat Noir it is available for pickup at some anonymous location, and arrange appropriate security to ensure that a hero claims it. I will live with the shame of who I was for the rest of my days. But I will keep our family out of the news and ensure that this scandal does no more damage to it than it already has.”

Adrien was still.

Gabriel found that he could not guess what his son was thinking.

Gabriel was a man of self-control, and he waited as long as he was able for his son’s response. But he broke first.

“This is a significant revelation. I understand it influences your desire to bond with me. And, if you prefer, I can turn myself in to the authorities and suffer any legal consequences that Paris deems necessary for my actions. However, I must caution you that it will be difficult and expensive to avoid a scandal, and I cannot guarantee success. I need you to be fully aware that you could find yourself the penniless son of a terrorist if you do, and your brand may never recover.”

“What do you mean, it’s too late?” Adrien asked quietly. “How is it too late to take over the world, or whatever you wanted the Miraculouses for?”

Gabriel sighed. “I had hoped to keep this from you. It may do more harm than good. But the reason I had wanted the Miraculouses- and only the Ladybug and the Cat, I had no interest in the Fox or the Turtle or the Bee or any other- was because, together, they can grant a wish. They cannot bring back the dead. But your mother was alive. She is now dying. If I had obtained the Miraculouses in time, we could have healed her, but she does not have much longer.”

A deep breath. “How much time does she have?”

“I don’t know. She’s fading. Would you like to see her?”

He swallowed. “Yes, I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon!Ladybug is a story about people dealing with emotions in unhealthy ways- either by freaking out and becoming Akumas, or denying them like Gabriel is trying to teach his household to do, to their overall detriment. This wants to explore that many people who were Akumatized were experiencing completely healthy negative emotions, and turned into villains as a result- so, villainizing people who were sometimes already victims of bullying or tragedy. I want Paris to collectively learn how to process their negative emotions in healthy ways, and I’m going to make all of their lives miserable temporarily to make that happen.
> 
> Any changes to people’s characters are made to bring them more in line with what we’re told they are in canon and adjust them to what it's been like to live in Paris with Hawkmoth active for the past five years (Everyone has developed survival strategies; if we're told someone has genius-level intellect, they better; if we're told they're politically powerful owners of hotels in which everything is covered in gold, they'll behave like it; if we're told they're EMPATHS we'll explore that). I have to age people up to the point that Mme. Bustier's class can have adult jobs, but am going to avoid doing so any further.
> 
> I'm going to try very hard to avoid sex and major character deaths, but can't guarantee there won't be any near misses.


	2. As You Wish - Part 2

Leave it to Hawkmoth to ruin disasters for Plagg.

Adrien had come back from the garden where Emilie rested like a zombie, all life and spirit sucked out of him. He sat on the sofa that had broken his world and took out Nooroo’s brooch. He stared at it.

Plagg plastered the biggest Chat Noir grin on his face he could muster. “Congratulations, you win! Pound it?”

Nothing.

“Okay, maybe you didn’t quite win. All we have to do is take this wielder-less Miraculous to Ladybug, so she can bring it to the Guardian, and then ta-da, Nooroo is saved! I’m ready to go, let’s transform.”

Still nothing. That was a bad sign.

“Okay,” he said, scraping the bottom of the barrel. “I know that the leaf and the sock and the string didn’t impress Ladybug, but imagine if you bring her a butterfly! Hawkmoth’s miraculous on a platter will definitely impress her. I bet you’ll even get to smoosh your faces together. I won’t even tease you about it.”

“Do you think he was right?” Adrien asked. It wasn’t clear whether he was asking Plagg or the Miraculous where Nooroo slept.

“Absolutely not,” Plagg said savagely. “Now, as much fun as Akumas have been absolutely wrecking every one of Paris’s major landmarks on a regular basis, we don’t mess with wishes. It’s never worth it.”

That seemed to break Adrien out of his funk. He was angry now, but an angry Adrien turns into Chat Noir and a numb, depressed Adrien does as his father orders. Plagg had to make Adrien very angry right now.

“Of course it’s worth it, Plagg,” Adrien insisted. “It’s my mother. You know exactly how lonely and sad I’ve been since she disappeared. And now I find out I was doing it to myself? I can save her! What could possibly be too expensive for that?”

Plagg absolutely hated having to be careful what he told his Chosen. Tact was Tikki’s specialty. “Do you remember that movie when they Cataclysmed the moon that was actually a giant space station?”

Adrien stared at him. “Congratulations, you’ve ruined Star Wars. This is officially the first time in my life that I haven’t wanted to be a Skywalker.”

“Good,” Plagg said, “Because it’s not just a story. Remember Darth Plaggueis? Where do you think he got his name? I’m adorable, but I’m very old and I’ve seen some stuff, and what happened honestly not that long ago in a galaxy not that far away can happen here and now. And if there’s something that 14 billion years with the Ladybug has taught me, it’s that you don’t mess with wishes.”

“Ladybug would help me,” Adrien said, “and you’re a terrible friend for not helping me too. But I don’t need your help, just hers. Claws out.”

Plagg yowled as the Ring claimed him.

 

* * *

  
The text from Chat Noir was as obvious a trap as Ladybug had ever seen. But that, itself, was a message.

Ladybug wasn’t sure whether an Akuma had managed to trigger Chat Noir’s transformation and then subdue him and then _figure out the texting feature_ without her even noticing that there was a threat, or whether Hawkmoth or one of his Akumas had f _igured out how to spoof a text from a Miraculous weapon_ , but they really should have put more thought into what they wanted to send. Manon could have figured out a better lie than “Hawkmoth surrendered, let’s strategize” when she had first been Akumatized. It was a trap, and it was an obvious trap, which meant they wanted to make it clear to her that it was a trap.

Thankfully, years of saving the city, and Volpina in particular, had established a protocol. Ladybug closed out the original message, then sent one to the real Chat Noir. “Getting ready to patrol tonight; where can I meet you?”

Her yo-yo chirped. “Arc de Triomphe. Let’s focus on getting Hawkmoth’s Miraculous to the Guardian. I don’t know if I have time for a full patrol tonight, but this is a priority.”

Okay, so it definitely wasn’t the spoofed number, they had Chat Noir and wanted to make sure she knew it. But someone was answering his baton, which meant he was still transformed, which meant that they wanted both Miraculouses in one place. If Chat Noir had indeed singlehandedly overpowered Paris’s resident terrorist supervillain, and then decided that the way to announce it was a text message of all things, he would at least throw in a meme. This one didn’t even have any puns, with “purriority” _right there_.

Marinette had played enough video games for Ladybug to recognize a save point before a final battle when it was literally texted to her.

She briefly considered asking Master Fu for help preemptively. This kind of ambush sounded like exactly the kind of thing she would love to have Rena Rouge as her backup. But then she hesitated. If the mystery Akuma had Chat, she could not allow them to track her to the Guardian or any other Miraculous holder. And for all she knew, if they had hacked the Baton, they might have hacked the Yo-Yo. She needed more information. So, she sent an anonymous, urgent tip to the Ladyblog.

_Akuma suspected. We might see Rena Rouge tonight._

She let the IP address tell the rest of the story.

Alya must have a push notification enabled for certain IP addresses, because she responded almost immediately. _Thank you for the tip! Will I need backup covering the story? My boyfriend is a little green, but he’s here and offering to help. I’m sure we can buzz over to my mom’s work, as well._

_I’m not sure, but I will let you know as soon as I know. Get ready to go, just in case._

Ladybug snapped her yo-yo closed and zipped off to the Arc de Triomphe as fast as she possibly could. The streets below her flew past, pedestrians and vehicles blurring together as she scoured the city for obvious Akuma damage, or even evidence of a Cataclysm. She wasn’t able to find anything, which was not evidence one way or the other about the threat level of the Akuma she faced. She promised herself that by the time she arrived at the Arc de Triomphe she would be ready for anything.

She was not ready for Chat Noir, sitting on a rafter with his legs dangling, subdued but not on guard. Her partner’s obvious safety and relaxation had never been so ominous.

_Volpina. Chameleon. Copycat. Dark Cupid. Malediktator. Evillustrator. Puppeteer. Mayura.  Is that really you, my Chaton, or is someone controlling or impersonating you? What’s the trap?_

She paused, close enough to observe but far enough that she was not immediately obvious, and texted him. _Running late, be right there._

He checked his phone, and typed something. _Night vision, Bugaboo. I promise it’s me._ And then he looked at her and waved.

Not an impostor, then, and unlikely to be an illusion, but possibly still possessed. Or- she felt sick considering it- possibly Akumatized.

She swung over.

“I’m sorry for being cautious,” she said. “This is definitely in too good to be true territory, and you know procedures- if it’s too good or too bad to be true, check for Akuma.”

Chat Noir’s expression was unreadable.

“It’s certainly been a weird day. I don’t know if I would call it good or bad, yet.”

The pieces clicked into place.

_Hawkmoth surrendered. To you, not to us. But he’s not here. And he’s not in jail. The Ladyblog hasn’t heard about it. You’re not happy. You haven’t told a single pun. You’re not even pretending to be happy, so you’re not possessed or Akumatized. So it’s a negotiated surrender. And it’s Hawkmoth, and there has only ever been one thing Hawkmoth has ever wanted from us. Oh, you stupid cat, what have you promised him? What has he promised you?_

“There’s still time to save it,” she said. “You’re sure it’s him?”

“He gave me his Miraculous. He has a Kwami named Nooroo, who looks like a butterfly. My Kwami recognized Nooroo as real, and that Nooroo has been genuinely set free.”

“And where is Hawkmoth now? He’s not in jail, and you’re not guarding him.”

He tensed. “He’s not a threat any longer.”

“He has been terrorizing Paris for years. He will always be a threat. And you’re being suspiciously cagey. If he doesn’t have his Miraculous any more, you’ve seen his face. Who is he?”

“It’s complicated,” Chat told her.

“I’m pretty sure it’s actually quite simple. Sooner or later in this conversation, you’re going to ask me for my Miraculous.”

He flinched. “I was going to ask for your help, yes.”

Ladybug massaged her temples. “Chat, this is Miraculous 101. _We don’t let Hawkmoth have them_.”

“Were you ever given a satisfactory reason why?” he asked her softly.

“Yes, actually,” Ladybug said. “But I’m not going to tell you, because it sounds like he’s playing you.”

“Now you’re just being petty,” Chat Noir accused. “He gave us his Miraculous for forever. I need your help- you can keep your Miraculous- for a moment. We can even swap for security’s sake, if it makes you feel better. How is this not obvious?”

“You idiot!” Ladybug exclaimed. “This isn’t his surrender, it’s ours.”

“Would it help that he volunteered to turn himself in? He’s not going to try to take over the world from jail.”

“He probably only needs them for a minute, and then he’ll be ruling the world, he won’t have gone to jail!”

“He doesn’t want to rule the world. We share someone we both care about. She’s dying. He wants to save her. He’s the only one who can.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “He’s probably the reason she’s dying in the first place.”

Chat looked like she had slapped him. “You take that back.”

“This is literally negotiating with terrorists,” Ladybug insisted.

“The thing about not negotiating with terrorists,” he bit, “is you have to be willing to let the innocent people die.”

Ladybug sighed. “We can save them, by ourselves, while Hawkmoth rots in jail where he belongs. We always have. We’re an unstoppable team, remember?”

“You know I would trust you with my life, and I have, more times than I can count. But we’re not a team unless you can trust me, too. And I need to either tell you who I am, or you have to take this leap of faith with me and trust that it’ll be worth it when you eventually find out who I am anyway.”

“Any solution offered by a supervillain isn’t offered in good faith. It’s a trap. Chat, this is what Hawkmoth does. He offers you everything you want, at the cost of everything you are- because he wants to get our Miraculouses. And the fact that you seem willing to give him yours means that under no circumstances should I give anyone mine.”

He stared at her for a long moment, shaking.

She stared back, resolute.

“Fine,” he said, breaking away and extending his baton. “We’re done. It’s too late anyway.”

 _Wait_ , she thought. _This isn’t how this is supposed to go_. “What do you mean, we’re done?”

“There isn’t any Hawkmoth any more. And so the world doesn’t need a Chat Noir. Enjoy your Miraculous, Ladybug, no one will be coming for it now, least of all Hawkmoth. I loved you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye?!?”

He was stealthier and faster than she was, and disappeared into the night. She swung after him for hours, calling for him, but he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir slipped into Adrien Agreste’s window and put his claws in.

For the first time since knowing him, Plagg did not say anything about cheese.

Adrien took off his ring, and threw it at the wall hard enough to dent the drywall. The ring made a silvery noise as it fell to the floor, and rolled out of sight. The tiny god disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, someone write the story of Darth Plaggueis the Wise. It's not a story the Guardian would have told us.


	3. As You Wish - Part 3

“Marinette! You have a friend over.”

Marinette squeaked, jumping up from the bed where she had collapsed at some God-awful hour of the morning. She still wasn’t a master at being ready for school after late-night Akumas, and even though no Akuma had shown up last night, fear had kept her vigilant.

“Thank you, Papa! I’ll be right down. Please let Alya know I might take a minute; she should eat her pastry now and I’ll just scarf mine down on the way over.”

“It’s not Alya, it’s a _boy_ ,” Tom said, mock-scandalized.

Not Nino; they knew him. Not Adrien; they would be teasing her entirely differently. Her exhausted, paranoid brain immediately connected the wires and she paled.

“Oh, no, Tikki,” she breathed, “It’s Chat Noir.”

“Marinette, focus,” her Kwami told her. “You don’t know that.”

“I’m not ready,” Marinette moaned, diving into her closet and shuffling through black blazer after black blazer, brushing her hair and trying to make sure she had exactly one leg in each half of her pants. “It has to be. Last night was too dramatic. It’s the end and I got three hours of sleep last night.”

“Do you want me to go scope it out?” Tikki offered.

“No! I can try to deny it, unless he sees you. Stay in my bag. Do I look okay? I’m fine. Okay, I’m ready. I’m not ready. I’m ready.”

“Relax, Marinette,” Tikki said. “Go eat some breakfast. Walk to class. You don’t have to admit to being Ladybug. The worst thing that can happen is a conversation, and you know I think you two need to talk more.”

“You also said identities have to stay secret,” Marinette said, trying to remind herself to breathe.

“You don’t even know for sure it’s Chat Noir,” Tikki said gently.

“Okay,” Marinette said, sacrificing her everyday flats for a pair of sneakers at the door to her apartment. If she needed to run before she could transform, flats would only slow her down. She straightened, ready for an ambush.

_How did I not guess that ridiculous cat has a pompadour WAIT A MINUTE-_

Kim Le Chien sat at the table closest to the door, with a mountain of éclairs on the plate in front of them. He was downing each of them like a professional speed eater. “Good morning, Marinette!” he said around a mouthful of ganache. “Mr. Dupain, Mrs. Cheng, we’re all here in case anything changes, okay? Please let us know as soon as possible if it does.”

“What do you mean, if something changes?” Marinette asked, walking to the door. Kim stood with visible regret, bussing his plate of remaining éclairs and joining her.

“Wait,” Kim told her, then opened the door and looked both ways. “All clear?” he called.

“Clear,” Alix said, pulling up on skates. “Let’s go to school.”

“Okay, I don’t understand,” Marinette said. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on? The city seems fine.”

“It’s lying,” Alix told her. “Alya got a tip to the Ladyblog last night, from a very reliable source, if you know what I mean. There was no Akuma, and she was never given the all clear. The most reliable source.”

Marinette winced. “Maybe it was a false alarm?”

“You’d think so. But then someone called in unable to come in to school today,” Kim said darkly.

“I will smack you hard enough to mess up that hair,” Alix bit at him.

“You can’t reach,” Kim said, but the damage had been done. Marinette’s face fell.

“Who didn’t come to school today?” she asked.

Kim and Alix looked at each other. They each grabbed one of Marinette’s arms. “I don’t need to smack you after all,” Alix told Kim. “Because Alya is going to flail you with your own entrails.”

“Who,” Marinette insisted, bracing for the worst.

“There’s no Akuma yet,” Alix said, as gently as she could. “But we’re expecting a butterfly in the Secret Garden, and it’s probably going to go for Buttercup.”

Kim visibly flinched, but did not let go of Marinette. “Okay, was that innuendo, or…”

“I need to go,” Marinette blurted.

“You need to _stay_ ,” Alix told her. “We all have your back, especially with the way that everyone feels after Chameleon. Max has Markov monitoring every CCTV in the city, and he’s analyzing it all and feeding Alya data about statistically minimizing the damage, with a particular focus on protecting you. She’s distilling it for Chloé, and while nobody is comfortable that the fate of the city apparently falls on Chloé, she’s the only hero whose identity is publicly known, so we have no choice. While she’s not saying it directly, we think she’s in contact with Rena Rouge and Carapace. Nino is on Adrien watch. If he doesn’t check in with Alya at some interval they worked out, we put you on a train to England and pray Ladybug and Chat Noir are okay.”

“Okay, I think everyone is jumping to conclusions,” Marinette said. “This is just a potential Akuma situation? What happened? How do you know it’s not just a photo shoot?”

“They found Adrien’s mom,” Kim said somberly. “She’s at the hospital. They’re saying she won’t last more than a day or two.”

Cold fury ran in Marinette’s veins. She tried to yank her arms free, but her friends held tight. “And none of you thought maybe he could use a friend instead of preparing for war?”

“His dad is there. Nino is there, he took the entire day off school to go sit with him. And we’re all visiting on lunch break and after school tonight. But the last time we had an Akuma who was legitimately good at weapons before they got their butterfly was Kagami, and she was terrifying. It’s the end of lycée and he’s never been Akumatized, and then suddenly Ladybug puts up advance warning and then disappears. Akumas are directly influenced by whatever strong emotion attracts the butterfly in the first place. Do you really want to face an Akumatized Adrien who is upset about _death_ , of all things?”

“I absolutely do not,” retorted Marinette. “And this is why we are going to the hospital to support him.”

“No, you’re not,” Alix told her, “You’re going to follow the security protocol, and wait for Alya, Nino, or Chloé to check in. You have special permission to take today’s classes with Mme. Mendeliev’s class, where Kagami will defend you and Aurore, Mireille, and Marc will watch for threats. At lunch, our entire class is going to come over as a group, where we will escort you to the hospital. And on the way, we are going to beg you to be the everyday Ladybug he worships out of you, but at the very first sign of a butterfly, we are going to ditch that plan and get you out of here.”

“Why are you so convinced he’s going to go after me?”

“Why don’t you tell us, _everyday Ladybug_?” Alix asked pointedly. “We’re not as blind as you two are.”

Marinette blushed.

“Don’t worry,” said Kim reassuringly, not letting go of her arm. “Alya responded to the original message to let Ladybug know what was going on. As soon as she transforms again, she’ll see the message and either let us know that everything is fine, or more details about what happened last night and whether Hawkmoth is still active. We don’t expect this to last longer than a few days, but until it happens, there will be someone keeping guard for you, twenty-four hours a day.”

Marinette sighed. She couldn’t tell them to stand down without transforming. There was no way she was going to get out of this. She just had to wait for it to all blow over.

 

* * *

  
Marinette had sometimes felt invisible. It was very lonely. But being watched by everyone, at every moment, was doing things to her mind. 

“You know,” she had told Marc, “I heard a rumor that Hawkmoth has retired.”

“That’s not possible,” Marc told her flatly. His hood was up protectively but he continued scanning the classroom, keeping Marinette squarely in his sight the whole time. “Hawkmoth will stop being a threat when we see a body, and not before. And I won’t sleep soundly, personally, until that body has had several rounds of bullets emptied into its head, and then is run over repeatedly by heavy machinery, and then has been Cataclysmed to ashes, and then those ashes have been salted and scattered, ideally across multiple continents. And that’s only if he doesn’t have any clones, time travel, alternate dimensions, or vengeful heirs. It’s like you don’t even read my and Nathaniel’s work; if you want a supervillain to retire permanently you can’t let them retire quietly.”

“That’s… a little violent,” Marinette said, stunned.

“What did I tell you about hesitating?” Kagami said, staring at Marinette.

“Why is no one watching you, instead?” Marinette attempted to deflect. “You’ve actually been on a date with Adrien.”

“Because I can defend myself,” said Kagami, knuckles white around the hilt of her saber. “I got that revenge match against Adrien, but Hawkmoth owes Riposte blood. Time spent going after me is time everyone else can be using to get to safety.”

 

* * *

 

Midway through the morning, she asked to use the restroom, intending to quickly transform and send out an all clear, then have a good talk with Tikki. Mme. Mendeliev made her wait until Markov arrived to escort her, and Mireille went into the restroom with her and chatted with her over the stall door. Markov scanned the area for unusual biomarkers, heat signatures, weight, motion, and who knows what else. Marinette only had a moment to open her bag and flail helplessly at Tikki, who shrugged and shook her head.

 

* * *

 

At lunch, exactly on schedule, Mme. Bustier’s class went to Mme. Mendeliev’s class and picked up Marinette. Alya, who clearly hadn’t slept since yesterday, put down her computer to embrace Marinette. “We’ve got you,” she said. “We’re going to keep you safe, and then Ladybug and Chat Noir are going to show up and take care of things. And I have on good authority that Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Queen Bee are on standby in case they’re needed.”

The teachers spoke quietly, keeping a vigilant eye on their charges. As they walked to the hospital, everyone who was not watching Marinette scanned roof and street for any sign of an Akuma.

“Why do you think that will even let him go after me?” Marinette asked, getting desperate. “Wouldn’t he be much more focused on getting the Miraculouses?”

“Because I heard rumor, Lila said, leaning in to speak into Marinette’s ear, her mouth uncomfortably close to Marinette’s earring, “that the black cat is in heat for you.”

Alix gagged. “Did you have to put that in the grossest possible way?”

Lila shrugged.

 

* * *

  
Chloé, standing at the top of the steps to the hospital, nodded as they walked by.

“Dupain-Cheng. A word.”

The classmates looked at each other.

“We can circle them,” Nathaniel said. “Between that and Markov’s scanning, that should be enough.”

Alya’s eyes narrowed at Chloé. “Be careful with her.”

Chloé scoffed. “I’ll be fine, Alya,” Marinette said, “But thank you.”

Chloé waited until the classmates took a few steps away to speak softly to Marinette. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wanted to say, in case this ends badly. I’m sorry for how I treated you.”

“Just how badly do you think this is going to go?” Marinette asked.

Chloé’s mouth was in a hard line. “Once Ladybug or Chat Noir show up, it’s probably going to be fine. But until they do, I can’t transform to Queen Bee. Rena Rouge and Carapace have made contact to let me know they’re in the area, so I hope she’s just getting them settled in, but I’m not certain. And I talked to the doctors, Mrs. Agreste isn’t going to last the night. If I had my way, you would already be in the Style Queen helicopter and headed for New York. I’d rather not find out if Miraculous Cure can raise the dead. But enough people are convinced Ladybug will need you for Lucky Charm and I got outvoted. So go buy us some time.”

“Thanks…?” Marinette said. “I still think we should be focusing a lot less on the potential Akuma and a lot more on comforting Adrien.”

Chloé’s smile was so patronizing it could almost be mistaken for affectionate. “This is Adrien we’re talking about,” she said. “He’s just going to see that he’s surrounded by friends. He’s not going to notice the difference.”

“Chloé,” Alya said sternly, noticing Marinette’s rising anger. “We’re going to go inside.”

Chloé nodded. The classmates reassembled around Marinette.

 

* * *

 

The Gorilla stood outside the door, looming protectively.

Adrien was not Akumatized. But he also clearly hadn’t slept last night. He sat, holding his mom’s hand, and stared vacantly at her.

Nino stood when Alya entered, and they embraced. “Anything?” he asked.

“No,” she said, back into his ear. “You?”

“Quiet,” he said.

Gabriel sat on Emilie’s other side, holding her hand and looking up at the class. “Thank you for coming,” he said. He clearly hadn’t slept, either; his normally gaunt face looked almost skeletal. Nathalie put her hand on his shoulder. It was the first time anyone had seen her without her tablet.

Marinette hung towards the back, at a loss.

“I need air,” she muttered to Rose.

“Girls’ trip,” Juleka told Ivan, who nodded. She, Rose, Myléne, and Alix peeled away from the group. The Gorilla watched them leave.

“What do you need?” Juleka said, once they had walked a bit.

“Just a little privacy,” Marinette said, pleading at this point. Even calling Master Fu would help, but he didn’t text.

“No,” Alix said.

“Fine, just a bathroom trip.”

They eyed her suspiciously.

Alix took charge. “Myléne, you’re watching the sinks. Juleka, you’re guarding the hallway. Rose, you and I will take the stalls. We’ll give Marinette a little privacy, but we can still keep her reasonably safe. And everyone set your phones to auto-dial Markov the second anything goes wrong; the hospital has cameras everywhere.”

The stalls were only half-height. There was no way she could transform in here, they would see the light. And there was almost no sound privacy at all.

“Tikki, she mouthed into her bag. “This is a disaster.”

“Your friends are showing that they care as well as they know how,” Tikki whispered. “I think you just have to deal with how protective they’re being and focus on being there for Adrien.”

“That’s a disaster, too! I don’t know what to do. I can’t fight death like it’s an Akuma.”

“I don’t think there’s much you can do, Marinette, and I’m so sorry. Death is not evil, but it is very sad, and how natural it is does not make it easier when you’re confronted with it for the first time. And Chosen typically take it hardest of all, because they’re so used to saving people from mortal peril. Situations like these when Ladybug is just as powerless as anyone else just have to be endured. The only thing you can do for him now is support him however you can.”

Marinette smiled at Tikki. “You always give such good advice. I wish Adrien had a kwami to talk to. He’s so lonely. Nino does his best, but he really needs a Tikki in his life.”

And then a strange expression crossed her face.

“Tikki. I have a serious question for you. I met Plagg once, when Chat Noir was unavailable. Chloé, Sabrina, and Prince Ali have seen you. Can _you_ help him?

Tikki paused for a moment, considering.

Ladybug had had exactly the right idea, refusing to help Chat Noir make a wish, but she also knew that this refusal would destroy years of trust and rapport if left untempered. She had a little time, now, as the passing of Adrien’s mother took up his entire focus. But if, indeed, Hawkmoth had attempted to negotiate a surrender, and found terms Chat Noir accepted but Ladybug opposed, the chances of Hawkmoth permanently turning Chat Noir were extremely high. She imagined the kind, sweet Adrien Marinette had been watching for years, emotionally devastated, dissonant with Ladybug, and with a supervillain offering an olive branch.

This situation called for subtlety, diplomacy, strategy, tact.

Tikki’s mental image of Plagg blew a raspberry so wet, she could smell the cheese. “Heck if I know, Sugar Cube.”

That decided it, then. Tikki nuzzled Marinette on the cheek. “I can do my best,” she said.

“Okay,” said Marinette, with a strange hitch to her voice. “I love you, Tikki. Thank you for everything.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Before Tikki had time to process what was happening, let alone react, Marinette removed an earring, and Tikki winked out.

“I’m sorry,” Marinette mouthed to her tiny earrings. “It’s not safe for me to keep you right now. Maybe not ever again. Chat Noir knows what I look like, and if he and Hawkmoth are working together, I won’t be able to stop them as Ladybug. I need to talk to Chat Noir as Marinette, and the new Ladybug needs to be someone they don’t know and won’t be able to predict. Adrien would be a great Chosen for you, Tikki, and you would be probably the best mentor figure he has ever had. I hope we meet again.”

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette opened the stall door. “Okay,” she told Myléne. “I’m ready.”

 

* * *

  
“Hey, Alya.”

She looked up from her screen, into Myléne’s soft, excited eyes.

“What’s going on, Myléne?”

“I think it’s okay for everyone to relax now,” she told her.

“Uh huh. I’ll let Ladybug give the all clear, thanks,” Alya said, looking back to her computer and pinging Markov. He pinged back. No Akuma, no signs of unusual bio, UV, heat, weight, or movement within a three-block radius. All was calm. If Hawkmoth was going to make his move, he was probably going to wait until Mrs. Agreste was dead.

“There might still be danger,” Myléne said, blushing a little, “but I think Adrien’s going to be okay.”

Something in her voice made Alya look up again. “No. It’s happening?”

Myléne nodded.

Alya told Markov she would be AFK but reachable on her phone, and then flew down the hallway.

The entire class was gathered around the tiny window of a supply closet, fighting to watch but unwilling to make a sound. “SO ROMANTIC,” Rose was mouthing, silent.

Marinette was talking earnestly with Adrien, who looked absolutely dazzled; like she was personally sent from Heaven to fulfill every one of his wildest dreams.

The door was much too thick, the window much too small, to see what they said.

But there was no misinterpreting the way he fell into her arms, how she stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, how tightly he held her. And when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

And then Nino shoved the lot of them away from the window and stood in front of it.

“Okay, people, pack it up, show’s over, give them some privacy,” he said, being very careful to be quiet.

The entire class was ready to mutiny.

“Are you serious?!?” Alix hissed. “We go through the entirety of collége and lycée waiting for these two to finally get together, and you’ve put up with more of their melodramatic sighing after each other than maybe anyone but Alya, we’ve all participated in some truly harebrained schemes to help these two finally get together, and now that it’s _finally happening_ -”

“You’re all perverts for wanting to watch. We’re all still very concerned about Adrien’s mental health; well, I think Marinette is going to be there for him. If Hawkmoth wants an Akuma, it’s not going to be our dude Adrien. Let’s pack it up and go back to class.”

Alya had never in her life walked away from such a juicy scoop, but this was the right thing to do.

“Okay, everybody, clear out. That means you, too, Lila,” she said, with a pointed look at the Italian who was still staring at the door, transfixed, with an unreadable expression. She clutched the pendant she normally wore tucked beneath the neckline of her shirt hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

Lila visibly broke her eyes away from the window, to smile sweetly at Alya. “Yes, of course,” she said, returning the necklace with a slight of hand too quick for even Alya’s trained eye. “I’m glad this is resolved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene was written fresh off the heels of Oblivio.


	4. As You Wish - Part 4

Adrien spent the evening holding Emilie’s left hand, but Marinette’s right.

Gabriel and Nathalie shared a glance, when the two of them came back from their private talk hand in hand, but did not comment.

Hospital visiting hours ran through 8 PM, which is when they asked Nino, Alya, and Marinette to leave. The Agreste family made a substantial donation to the hospital, who allowed them to stay later.

Alya spent the entire walk home asking Marinette what she had told Adrien, but Marinette would say nothing. Even though she smiled, the loss on her face was clear. She was taking Mrs. Agreste’s passing very hard. Nino and Alya crashed at the Dupain-Cheng bakery for the night, and while they were both asleep by 9, Alya with her phone’s alerts turned all the way up and the Dupain-Chengs under strict orders to wake her if she missed an alert, Sabine kept vigil with Marinette, waiting for Tom to wake up and begin the next day’s baking.

Alya would wake up to a message texted to her from her own phone with an all clear.

At the hospital, Nathalie Sancoeur completed her tasks for the day and departed at 9:30.

Gabriel asked Adrien to leave at 10:45 for a private moment with Emilie. The Gorilla drove him home.

Shortly before midnight, the Gorilla returned to bring Gabriel home.

Gabriel went straight to the sub-basement, and stood in the doorway for a moment, regarding the hydroponic flower garden he had built for Emilie. Priceless, devastatingly beautiful flowers, kept alive artificially and deprived of the sun; how fitting. He sighed, and began to take it apart. The work was tedious, methodical, and helped him process his grief.

He turned, when he felt eyes on him. The shadow in the doorway flicked one of his ears, but was otherwise still.

Gabriel stood slowly, raising his hands, then put them behind his head.

“I’m not here for that.”

“I suppose, if you had been, Ladybug would be here, too. So it’s to be the other thing.”

The shadow said nothing.

Gabriel ordinarily blessed his ability to visualize things clearly based on limited information, but, unbidden, his mind painted him a final picture.

_Chat Noir, searching Gabriel’s ashes for Miraculous or Kwami. Unable to find them, he continues searching. Emilie’s garden reduced to so much compost. The Atrium, dismantled. His office, ransacked. And then he looks up at the framed art of Adrien._

_The shadow, stealing into Adrien’s room and finding sleeping boy and incriminating Kwami. Would he give him enough time to learn what had happened to his father, the night his mother died? Time to learn how to send out an Akuma? Or would three Agrestes die tonight?_

_Where was Ladybug?_

Gabriel had absolute confidence that if he had not schooled himself for decades in perfect control of his expressions, no matter his emotions, the dark would not have been enough to mask his terror.

“I don’t know who I Akumatized to bring it to this,” he said, “or if it was the whole thing. I regret all of it- the years, the violence, the terror- but only because it was unsuccessful. Even knowing how it would turn out, if I was given the chance to go back and do it again, I would have. But please, grant a dead man walking one last wish. Do what you feel you must to me to have your justice, but spare my family.”

The shadow strode forward, silently, leaving the light of the doorway. Gabriel’s eyes had to strain to see the black on black, but the green paw print on the ring burned like poison. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and braced for impact.

He wondered whether death by Cataclysm would be painful.

“Claws in.”

In the dark garden, enough lime green light flashed past Chat Noir’s face to reveal Adrien. “That’s the idea, father. Thank you for finally talking to me. Let’s go save Mom.”

 

* * *

  
Shortly after 3 AM, the earrings and ring dissolved into nothingness. Adrien felt Plagg’s angry, disappointed eyes on him in the dark; heard the anguished cry of who could only be the Ladybug Kwami.

He swayed slightly.

Gabriel looked at him, concerned.

“Just a headache,” he said. “I’m very tired.”

He squeezed his father’s hand, and he squeezed back.

 

* * *

 

Marianne and Master Fu were playing a game of Mahjong, when Wayzz suddenly looked at the Miracle Box. “Oh, no,” he says. “We are two more.”

“The Butterfly and the Peacock?” Marianne asked, but knew the answer already.

Master Fu pressed a secret combination of buttons on his gramophone to expose the Miracle Box. Ring and earrings rested beside necklace and comb, where they absolutely did not belong. “The Ladybug and the Black Cat,” says Master Fu softly. “What have they done?”

 

* * *

  
In a hospital room, Emilie Agreste opened her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to [Tempomental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tempomental/pseuds/Tempomental), whose work [The Love of a Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413760/chapters/40990511) directly influenced this premise, and without whose assistance beta reading I would be a lot more neurotic and less likely to have posted this in the first place.
> 
> Thanks also to [MiniMinou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMinou/pseuds/MiniMinou), whose work [From the Ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776922/chapters/34176086) directly influences how I'm grokking the Kwamis, and whose work [Lay Your Weary Head to Rest ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794727) is the definitive reference point for a major interaction in an upcoming chapter.
> 
> [OrangeBunnit ](https://orangebunnit.tumblr.com/) is my art hero, helping me visualize some characters and Akumas that do not have canon visual references. Her commissions are open, and she's wonderful to work with!


	5. (Cat)erpillar - Part 1

_Good morning, beautiful :3_

_You mean everything to me and I can’t wait to see you again, but I’m taking a few days off school for purrsonal reasons. I’m still mostly convinced that this is a dream, but if I don’t sleep soon I’m probably going to pass out. If it is a dream, I hope I remember it enough to send this text to you again when I wake up._

_I love you. I’ll call you when I can._

 

* * *

 

Tom Dupain woke at 4 AM from a sleeping bag on his living room floor to begin his morning. Sabine sat, vigilant, watching her slumbering family in nearby sleeping bags.

“Is everything still quiet?” he asked her.

“As the grave,” she responded. “Marinette went to sleep around 1, and so far TVi hasn’t reported any major disturbances, either.”

“Okay,” Tom said, hugging her. “Get some rest; that nap yesterday afternoon could not have been enough. I’ll take over from here.”

 

* * *

 

Nino woke at 6 from the sleeping bag next to Alya. She made an amazing little spoon, and he hated to leave her, so he bought a few moments by putting on his glasses and checking his phone.

The tone of the texts waiting for him was dramatically different than whatever he expected.

 

_NINO_

_NINO_

_NINO_

_NINO_

_NINO_

_I’M HYPERVENTILATING DUDE PICK *UP*_

_HOLY CRAP NINO ***MARINETTE***_

_MARINETTE, NINO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Also, I am SO GLAD you wound up with Alya because you two are made for each other but Marinette is SIMPLY THE BEST_

_DO YOU KNOW HOW GOOD MARINETTE IS NINO_

_I THINK SHE JUST MADE ME THE LUCKIEST PERSON IN PARIS_

_AND I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE HOW TO DEAL_

 

 _Wow, I must have been exhausted, last night,_ Nino thought, continuing to scroll down through several kilometers of unintelligible, excited texts. _He must have been at this for hours. I hope he’s not just using whatever’s new in their lives as a coping mechanism to deal with what’s going on with his mom; that’s not healthy._

Too much time with Alya was giving him a nagging curiosity about what exactly had happened in that closet. He thought he had remembered a small box; surely Marinette hadn’t proposed? But no; Adrien had not been wearing his ring the entire day, but Marinette wasn’t wearing it, either.

“No, way,” Alya said softly.

“I’m so sorry, babe, did I wake you?” he asked, putting his phone away. “Go back to sleep, you need your rest. Ladybug hasn’t given us the all clear yet, you’re going to need to stay bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“I have breaking news,” she said, and showed him her phone.

 

_Dear Alya,_

_Adrien Agreste is officially safe. I appreciate the way you rallied everyone to protect him and Marinette Dupain-Cheng! I was monitoring the situation, but it’s always better when people can work out their feelings without Hawkmoth getting involved._

_Please send out a request for everyone to stand down._

_I may have good news for you soon._

_-Ladybug_

 

_Dear Ladyblogger,_

_Hawkmoth has surrendered!_

_I’m officially retiring to go spend time with my FURRmily._

_-Chat Noir_

 

“The final fight happened last night and we missed it! The IP address from Chat Noir registers to his baton, so it’s genuine, but the message from Ladybug comes from my own phone in the middle of the night. I would have ordinarily thought the Ladybug message was a clever counterfeit from Marinette, but unless Chat Noir decided to visit last night, somehow got past Mrs. Cheng, and decided to significantly raise the stakes of the scam to try to jailbreak Marinette, it’s real. And the crazy thing is, as far as Markov can tell, there was no Akuma at all last night. It was statistically identical to any night without an Akuma Paris has ever encountered.”

“So, what, we’re free?”

“I think so,” Alya breathed. “It’s going to be downright impossible reporting the hottest news since the day we met without a major showdown or any details or photos, and I don’t want to move too fast in case it’s a trap somehow- but I think I scooped TVi. My gut tells me it’s legit. They purified the butterfly Hawkmoth sent before it made it to the hospital, and defeated him.”

“Okay, I was going to show you something shocking, but you win, yours is definitely the headline. Mine goes below the fold.”

“No, show me,” Alya insisted. “I barely have more than a tip. Maybe yours is another piece of the same puzzle, I’m going to need more than this if I’m going to publish, especially since Chat Noir sounds like he’s not going to be available for photo ops and, logically, I don’t know if Ladybug would be, either.”

Nino showed her his phone. “It’s like he’s not even worried about his mom any more; the only thing on his radar is Marinette. What _happened_ in that closet?”

 

* * *

 

Chloé checked in at the front lobby of the hospital with squared shoulders and head high. Nino had the morning off; he hadn’t slept for at least 36 hours, and needed to stay fresh. It was her turn to stay with the Agrestes and keep watch. Adrien needed someone, and until Kagami or Marinette could make it, it would be her.

The first thing that was amiss was that the Gorilla did not stand at the door.

The second was that the door was open.

She knocked.

“Come in,” Mr. Agreste said.

Mrs. Agreste was sitting up in her bed, propped up by hospital pillows. Mr. Agreste held a plastic cup of ice water, and was helping her drink it through a plastic straw. His hands covered hers like they were a baby bird.

Chloé stared.

“My word,” said Mrs. Agreste, “Is that Chloé Bourgeois? My, how you’ve grown. You’re as beautiful as your mother and have just as much steel.”

“How?” Chloé asked. For all the world, it sounded as if it was Chloé, not Emilie, who had not used her voice in six years.

“The doctors don’t know,” Mrs. Agreste said, looking at her husband and smiling softly. “It’s really very strange.”

“Whatever miraculous cure was found, I’m deeply grateful to everyone even remotely responsible,” Gabriel said, his eyes never leaving his wife.

“Ladybug?!?”

An intern popped her head into the room frantically. “Please keep your voice down,” she begged. “We can’t afford another Patient Zero Akuma. Miraculous Cure does not heal the sick, but people in despair will latch on to anything.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Mrs. Agreste said, frowning. “Who is Ladybug? And what is an Akuma?”

“Until very recently, there was a supervillain named Hawkmoth who would possess and transform, or ‘Akumatize,’ individuals experiencing strong emotions, by sending a magic butterfly into an object that was dear to them,” Mr. Agreste told his wife. “In response, superheroes Ladybug and Chat Noir, together with their colleagues Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Queen Bee, rose to meet him, defeat the Akumatized individuals. They have magic items, called Miraculouses, that they use to transform to superheroes on command. Patient Zero was a particularly terrifying Akuma; he had heard a rumor, that one of Ladybug’s special abilities, Miraculous Cure, that could restore damage inflicted by an Akuma, could also heal more traditional injuries and illnesses such as tinnitus. Patient Zero… had stage 4 cancer. The power that he obtained by being transformed made his Akumatization contagious. By the time the heroes realized there was an outbreak, the entire hospital had become infected, as well as first responders that nearly reached the city borders. Typically, Akumas have a vendetta, together with an assignment to capture the Miraculouses of Ladybug and Chat Noir; Patient Zero and those he infected were focused single-mindedly on capturing the Miraculouses and on infecting as many other people as possible. If Rena Rouge had not given them all a reason to reconvene, the epidemic might have spread across the globe, and while Paris is under Andre’s jurisdiction, it is also an international city and Interpol could easily have gotten involved. And while Patient Zero was eventually defeated and purified, the cancer remained; he died a few months afterwards. The medical community has been particularly clear to set the expectations of what is and is not within Miraculous Cure’s specialty ever since.”

“I don’t get it,” Chloé said, turning to Mr. Agreste. “Why are you talking about Hawkmoth in the past tense?”

“Have you read the Ladyblog this morning, Queen Bee?” he responded. “It has apparently been a very eventful night.”

Chloé unlocked her phone and began to read.

“Chloé has been one of the heroes protecting Paris from rampaging Akumas,” Gabriel told Emilie as Chloé scrolled. Her jaw had dropped so far it was beginning to go numb.

“Oh, dear! I’m glad she is safe. Audrey and Andre cannot have been pleased.”

“Andre has been out of his mind with worry, but Le Grand Paris has been booming with people attempting to experience the superhero lifestyle. Audrey has never been prouder of her. They had some tension, early on, but Audrey has permanently relocated Style Queen to Paris and we’ve collaborated to launch an exclusive line inspired directly off the comb Chloé uses to become a superhero.”

“That sounds amazing! Chloé, may I see your Miraculous? It must be truly special.”

“I don’t have it right now,” Chloé said, continuing to read. “Ladybug brings it to me when she needs backup.”

“What a shame,” Emilie said. “I’m surprised Audrey settled for your being a part-time hero. Surely the little girl I remember, with such willpower, would have made a formidable Ladybug? What other young woman could have possibly done better?”

“We don’t know, Chloé said, putting away her phone to deal with one impossible thing at a time and trying not to dwell on the way her words had stung. She probably hadn’t realized how she sounded. “There are plenty of theories, but none confirmed.”

“Anyone I would recognize?”

Chloé chuckled. “Yes, actually! Easily half the city thinks Chat Noir is Adrien!”

Mr. Agreste took his eyes off his wife for the first time since Chloé had come in. “Do you?” he asked.

“No,” Chloé said, “but he’s a very convincing fake. He’s been a celebrity stand-in for him for years- the Clara Nightengale music video, the voice acting- but the mannerisms just don’t match up. You don’t go from “radiant, carefree, dreamy” to making some truly cringe-worthy puns while sword-fighting a Grammy award winning rockstar on a plank suspended from the Eiffel Tower, and if anything, how similar they look and sound just make it obvious how different they are. So unless he has a secret twin brother somewhere, no, there aren’t any superheroes in your family.”

Chloé frowned for a moment, then continued. “Please don’t tell him I said that. I think he’s having a lot of fun, being coy about it. And having a possible secret superhero alter ego has been nothing but good for his brand.”

“What do you think, Gabriel?” Mrs. Agreste teased, and she had stolen his undivided attention again. “I think our home could be retrofitted to accommodate some exceptional activity, if we can find sufficiently discreet contractors. Am I going to have to learn how to parent a superhero? Try to enforce a curfew on someone who can use the windows to exit as well? Am I at any risk of being held hostage by a supervillain? Do I need to practice my swoon? I’m a very good actress.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny any superheroic activity that may or may not have been happening at our home as you slept, my light.”

Chloé would have to practice for months to have a laugh as radiant as Mrs. Agreste’s.

“Keep your secrets, then, if you can,” she said. “I’ll just have to ask Adrien when he gets here.”

“Wait,” Chloé said, confused, “where is he? He barely left your side since you were found.”

“Still sleeping, I hope,” Mr. Agreste said. “I doubt very much he had slept since we found Emilie. He reported a migraine early this morning, and I requested that he stay home and try to sleep it off. It has been an emotionally exhausting few days for all of us. I am certain he will request to be taken here as soon as he is feeling well again.”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Agreste said, her smile faltering for the first time. “Migraines? I hope they’re not the hereditary ones.”

“If they are, I will use every one of the considerable resources at my disposal to ensure his greatest comfort and well-being,” Mr. Agreste said. “But I am confident he is merely exhausted.”

 

* * *

 

_Nathalie-_

_You’re five minutes late. What’s going on?_


	6. (Cat)erpillar - Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Tamaki Suoh/ René de Grantaine has as many baby pictures of Adrien as Gabriel has. They have 0% overlap. Here he is teaching future Chat Noir how to flirt. Art by [OrangeBunnit / Bella](https://orangebunnit.tumblr.com/), whose commissions are open.

“Why, of course I miss Paris! City of lights! City of ~*~*~ROMANCE~*~*~. And if the rumors are true, you finally found the love you lost there sixty years ago, too! Congratulations, old friend! You’re an inspiration to us all. And speaking of inspiration, have you seen Adrien-chan recently? I really need to reconnect with him, I’ve been seeing his ads everywhere for years and just never made the time, who knew I could teach a four year old to be such a natural host! Is it true he has four girlfriends and a boyfriend, not to mention is in a polyamorous relationship with both Ladybug and Chat Noir, [I saw that ridiculously suave cat climbing out of his window in the Ladyblog the other day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988089) and they could give Hikaru and Kaoru a run for their money-”

Félix de Grantaine focused on slowing his breathing. Far from the first time, he silently thanked a tiny red goddess that his drug of choice was something innocent like tea,  _and not coffee any more,_  instead of something that could have gotten him into trouble in excess. He supposed he should have been thanking the tiny black god instead, but the tiny black god was an asshole and Félix refused.

“Forgive me, Kyoya-san,” he said, setting his delicate bone china cup back onto its saucer with utmost care. He stood, and walked over to his brother, who he regarded for a moment. Suddenly, he batted René across the head, causing him to lose his balance and fall off the arm of the Rococo chaise where he had perched. René yelped and dropped the cell phone, which Félix retrieved.

“Hello, Fu. I thought I told you to lose my number.”

“It is good to hear your voice, young Félix. Occasionally I do simply wish to reconnect with René; he is living a most interesting life, full of fascinating people. And yet you have never missed an opportunity to speak with me, even if it is to insist that you have no interest in speaking with me. It is most peculiar.”

Félix sighed. “Your calls are never purely social, ancient one, and usually involve asking me a favor at some point. If the rumors on the Ladyblog are true, and Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth without a flashy media spectacle like Heroes’ Day, and they haven’t been available for a photo op since then, they’re all dead and that victory is a cover-up if I’ve ever seen one. Which means you need a convincing Cat and Ladybug to smile and wave for the cameras soon before anyone catches on. Well, Bridgette won’t be available for another seven months, and unless you’re asking me to make eyes at a child half my age and ultimately set myself up for a lot of drama once her real Cat is activated, you can start the cycle again with another pair of thirteen year olds. Perhaps having their first mission be attending the funeral of their predecessors will teach them the gravity of the commitment they’re making, and give them enough time to adjust to their new responsibilities that their survival rate will improve. It’s less flashy than throwing them directly to their deaths, but there’s something to be said for long-term planning.”

He hung up the phone, then calmly walked to the open window. The Tokyo skyline, made intimately familiar with how many times it had been destroyed and created again, stretched endlessly into the distance. Sixty-five stories below, an endless sea of humanity bustled along the busy sidewalks.

He dropped the phone out the window, where it shattered on the concrete into a satisfyingly glittery mess.

He walked back to the table, sat, and downed his sencha in one go. The care with which he set down the teacup contrasted pleasantly with the destruction on the sidewalk below.

“Thank you for your patience, Kyoya. Now, let’s look at that tax paperwork.”

René looked sadly out the window onto the sidewalk. “Félix, that was my phone, not yours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [RIP Grumpy Cat](https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/17/business/media/grumpy-cat-dead.html), the meme, the myth, the legend. The world is better for having known you. And you hate that.


	7. (Cat)erpillar - Part 2

In a world that had Akumas in it, bizarre phobias were par for the course. Rose, for example, had every reason to not be able to breathe around perfume any more. Mme. Bustier no longer wore any kind of lip gloss at all. But it was Alya’s dumb luck that the two people that mattered the most to her without being directly related, were both paralyzed with terror at one particular door buzzer.

“I can ring it for you,” she said gently.

“No, I can do this,” Nino steeled himself. “Adrien isn’t answering his phone to let us in, I don’t think anyone has heard from him in two days, and his calls are going straight to voicemail now. I know Marinette said he needed a few days off and would get in touch when he could, but there’s no way he would just ghost us all.”

“He’s probably just over-committed,” Alya soothed. “If he’s as in awe of his mom as Chloe says his dad was, he probably hasn’t left her side since she went home from the hospital.”

“But he hasn’t plugged in his phone to charge?”

Alya twitched. Some instinctive part deep in her brain could smell a story, and she was trying to repress it.

“Do you think she’s as terrifying as his dad is?”

“I’m still disappointed you two didn’t make peace when you spent that whole day together. He’s just a strict, grieving parent; you’re treating him like he’s Hawkmoth or something.”

“I’m sorry, but the last time I rang that doorbell, it ruined bubbles for me. You didn’t know me very well yet, but ask around- that was crazy. I don’t want it to ruin music or Wayzz, and I don’t know what i would do if it ruins us. I like my life right now and I don’t want it to change.”

“There is nothing in that house that can ruin us. Come on, let’s do it together.”

Two hands pushed the buzzer gently.

“I’m proud of you,” Alya told Nino. “You did it. In record time, too.”

“It doesn’t have to ruin something every time,” Nino said. “I just have to know that it can.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed and kissed his cheek.

They waited a moment for Nathalie’s response, but the house was silent.

“Did you see that?” Alya said, suddenly. “Up on the second floor, in the big radius window.”

“It looked like a ghost,” Nino said, the color draining from his face.

They waited a few minutes more, and were preparing to ring the buzzer again when the Gorilla opened the front door.

Alya knew that it was heresy, but the woman that walked out was all the proof she needed that not only did God exist, but She was female.

Chloe had mentioned that Mrs. Agreste was beautiful, but poetry had never been one of her talents. Mrs. Agreste moved like she had wings, not walking, but gliding down the front steps of her home. As she stepped out of the shadow and the first beam of sunlight caught her hair, it shone like a halo about her head, cascading down her back in the kind of soft curls Alya needed hours of work to achieve, and her perfect posture implied a crown. Not a goddess; the queen of all possible goddesses. The effect was accented by the white sundress that gathered softly about her shoulders and waist, but flowed behind her in a feather-soft train that whispered every time one of her liquid-gold sandals kissed the marble of the courtyard. And then she smiled, and Alya instantly understood why the life had been sapped out of the Agreste household when she disappeared; Emilie Agreste alive was an order of magnitude more beautiful than Emilie Agreste dying, and Emilie Agreste, happy, could stop the world.

“Hello,” she said. “Forgive my manners, I’m not sure we’ve met. Alya Cesaire, I am the mistress of the house! What brings the Ladyblogger herself to our home?”

“You know my blog?” Alya asked, trying not to squeal.

Mrs. Agreste’s laughter was brighter than the daylight in which she stood. “It’s easily the most fascinating contemporary writing of the decade! Imagine what you could do with proper cinematography and a budget. You have been the eyes of the city for five years, telling the truly interesting stories, far less mundane than the TVi coverage. I especially loved your exclusive interviews of the heroes themselves; it has been both soulful and informative. The world would do well to keep an eye on you.”

She turned to Nino, appraising him. “And my husband tells me that you may have me at the disadvantage; you must be the young man that stayed with my son when I was found. His mental health is the better for your being there. Forgive my manners; what was your name?”

“Uh, Nino, Mme.”

“The pleasure is mine, uh, Nino,” Mrs. Agreste said. “Many people have come to call, claiming to be my son’s best friends; thank you for being one of few who have proved it.”

“Is he okay?” Nino asked. “He’s not answering his phone, and it’s going straight to voicemail. We were worried.”

“Adrien is not well, but he will survive,” Mrs. Agreste said, “but thank you for your concern. His migraines have worsened; he is light sensitive now, so we have encouraged him to keep his phone off to minimize the external stimuli.”

“That’s rough,” Nino said. “Do you mind if I write him a note?”

“How very considerate,” she responded. “I can certainly pass it along the next time I bring him his medication.”

Nino frowned, and something tugged at the back of Alya’s mind, but she ignored it as he took out a pen and paper and began to write. “Welcome back to the world,” she said. “This is huge. You must have so many questions.”

“I had never thought that, in the many academic salons I attended in my youth, that the questions of what I would research first upon discovering I had slept for six years would have practical knowledge,” Mrs. Agreste said. “But I am glad to have put the forethought into the question. It… simplifies things. I just regret having missed the adventure; I think I would have made a spectacular Akuma.”

“With respect, ma’am, it’s no fun at all being Akumatized,” Alya said. “It’s your lowest possible moment, exploited to terrorize the people around you, and you’re most likely to target the people you love the most. And it’s no power fantasy; you wake up with amnesia, and have to hear about what you did second-hand.”

Mrs. Agreste’s face fell. “I’m sorry, I had no idea. The Bubbler and Lady Wifi, or collectively Oblivio, seemed almost whimsical. Discovering that they were traumatic is a terrible tragedy. This has been going on for five years? And only the teen heroes have done anything about it. This seems deeply irresponsible of the greater political community at large. Surely, if Andre had called for assistance, many in the international community would have come to the aid of the city? Or did having only one hero in compliance with the Sokovia Accords hinder our international alliances? How did Andre possibly manage to stay mayor, if Akumatization is traumatic?”

“Well, it helped that his only challenger last election cycle’s campaign slogan was literally “Might Makes Right.” Not really the best slogan to rally behind when there’s a supervillain active,” Alya offered.

Some of the color drained from Mrs. Agreste’s face. She was still devastatingly beautiful, but looked something that approached human, for the first time that day. “How, tone-deaf. Who could that possibly have been?”

“Our school fencing instructor,” Alya said. “The way Adrien explained it, it makes perfect sense to an epeeist- use the rules of the sport to your best advantage, but don’t get too bogged down by Right of Way, and initiative is everything. But enough people aren’t epeeists, and they got scared off to “We Can Afford To Save Paris.””

“We can’t afford not to,” Mrs. Agreste agreed. “But I am unimpressed with the direct measures Andre took to address the issue, unless he preferred to move through his daughter.”

“Not unless he was a lot more sneaky than anyone realized,” Alya said, a little more jaded than she had intended. “Queen Bee has her strengths, and has saved Paris on multiple occasions, but as well-meaning as Mayor Bourgeois is, he wasn’t really helpful to do much of anything against Hawkmoth.”

“An opportunity, missed, then,” Mrs. Agreste said. “He’s up for reelection soon; his opponent might exploit his inaction against him. I should discuss this with Audrey, and strategize.”

“You’ll ask Adrien to call us as soon as he’s feeling up to it?” Nino asked, finishing up his note, folding it, and handing it to her.

“I won’t need to,” she reassured him. “He has a class picture of you all, on his bedside table, and as I understand it, he was up for several hours, the last night he was feeling well, texting. He will reach out to you again when he can.”

“Thank you,” Alya said, and they turned to leave.

* * *

Mrs. Agreste walked back into her home, and The Gorilla closed the doors for her. She read over Nino’s note, then put it on a small tray, underneath a glass of ice water beside a nondescript, unlabeled bottle of pills. She brought the tray to the room where her son slept, and set it beside the class photo.

She sat beside him, smiling gently, and humming a lullaby quietly. He had been sweating, eyes closed tight, but visibly relaxed in her presence. Chloé had been correct; no part of him had a trace of feline grace whatsoever.

As the ice water sweated onto the note, the ink began to bleed.

* * *

A week ago, Gabriel would have turned away the young fashion designer fidgeting at the door. However, much had changed in the recent past, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng of the Bowler Hat had proven to be much more than meets the eye. He saw Potential in her, now.

“It’s been four days,” she was explaining to his wife, who had greeted her at the door. She was clearly intimidated, but resolute. “That’s a very long migraine.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Emilie said, “but until Adrien is able to provide further instruction, I cannot allow anyone to see him. He is not well and needs his rest.”

“Mme. Agreste, when it was you who were not well, the entire class came to see you at one point or another. We’re starting to get very worried. Please, at least let Nino in. Adrien trusts him with his life, anyone can tell you that.”

“The difference,” Emilie said gently, “was that when I slept, no one expected me to wake. An Akuma based entirely on sound could have rampaged past my hospital room, and I would have been none the wiser. Adrien has a headache, nothing more, and if he wakes now, he will be the worse for it.”

“I have a solution,” Gabriel said, from the top of the stairs.

Both women turned to him, Marinette confused but optimistic, Emilie calculating.

“While it hurts my pride to admit it, it appears that, in Nathalie’s absence, I am unable to facilitate my entire empire by myself. While I had originally intended to retire by the end of the summer in the light of the new developments, I cannot wrap up an international company without… the capacity to delegate. Marinette, if you should be interested in an internship, I think that this project could provide you with valuable skills, and I would of course be honored to mentor you for as long after the project as you would like. And you can see that we are not, in fact, holding Adrien hostage, and he can spend as much time with you as he would like, while remaining able to rest as much as he requires.”

“This is the first I have heard of such an idea,” Emilie responded, frowning slightly. “Surely Nathalie has not completely disappeared without a trace…? I trust that we are already searching for her, but an entire fashion empire is a massive responsibility for one young lady, talented as she may be. We had always discussed Adrien taking over the family business, but Gabriel is an international brand. Giving the reins to an unknown designer almost before she graduates lycée, even to wrap up the project, may do serious harm to the brand and the family in the long run.”

“It has been distressing to me how much side projects in recent years, in which I find no joy but cannot delegate, have distracted me from doing the design work that is my passion,” he responded. “The garments featured in recent ads? Casual. Basics. Uninspired. Commercially successful, but artistically flat. Nothing like the haute couture from the last runway of mine you had seen. Nathalie was exceptional in keeping the machine running, but had no artistic eye. Please trust me; I have been paying particular attention to Marinette’s creations since the first design competition she won for me, and she has been winning them consistently since. Her project management skills have consistently impressed me. And if I understand correctly, she may not be an outsider to this family for much longer.”

Marinette squeaked, blushing a familiar shade of red. Comprehension dawned across Emilie’s face like a sunrise, split her mouth into a dazzling smile.

“You’re sure?” she asked, excited. “Not like the ambassador’s daughter? It was embarrassing how intimately she was able to explore the household before you caught her and showed her the door. Her evidence was most convincing.”

“Adrien is, of course, the final authority on the subject,” Gabriel said, “but I suspect that Marinette is indeed the lucky girl to have won our son’s heart.”

“Then she will receive a full welcome to this household,” she said. “Are there still rooms for a studio for her? I will arrange for a key card to the downstairs offices. Marinette, let me take down your phone number. Would you like access to my office as well? It’s a bit of a mess right now, launching the mayoral campaign, but all that we have is yours. Let me write down the codes to our security system. I apologize for my skepticism; Adrien is a popular young man who is unable to speak for himself right now, and until he can, I am trying to protect his privacy, but I trust Gabriel implicitly and his assessment of potential is exceptional. I shall have to keep an eye on your work.”

“Let me give you a brief tour,” Gabriel said. “As I understand, you have had limited exposure to the household, but I wish to allow you unfettered access and every convenience.”

He led her down the offices, supply rooms, and libraries, explaining each thing along the way, then stopped by the staircase that led to the residence upstairs.

“You are brave enough to face anything you may discover in this household,” he said quietly to her, “and creative enough to become a legend with the resources it has to provide. I cannot leave my legacy in better hands than yours and my son’s. Be good to him.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” she said. “But I still don’t understand why you didn’t just put out an ad for a professional. I can do my best, but Nathalie is insanely competent, and I don’t think I can easily replace her.”

“You can’t,” he said, tersely, then softened. “But you remind me of someone, and it makes me wonder at your potential.” He considered her for a moment, his eyes flicking to her empty earlobes. “But it appears you are missing your most iconic accessory, and, in the spirit of Coco Chanel, that is a travesty. Where are the garnets you used to wear? I’m not sure I have ever seen you without them before.”

Marinette’s shoulders tensed. “They’re just jewelry,” she said, evenly, looking him in the eye. “A friend has them, now.”

She needed to learn to do a better job of concealing her emotions, than just putting on a blank face when someone asks an uncomfortable question. Gabriel did not need assistance in interpreting the alert in her stance. He smiled, to reassure her.

“I hope they are returned to you soon,” he said. “They were timeless.”

“I miss them,” she said, as if admitting it to herself for the first time. “But my friend needs them more.”

“It is the nature of heirlooms,” he said, with sympathy. “We do not own them, but are stewards. And the most important thing you can do with that heirloom, is choose who is worthy to carry on that legacy.”

 

* * *

 

Clumsy, stuttering, shy Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a project management virtuoso, Gabriel Agreste thought to himself, watching her work. She was on the phone, going toe to toe with Prada, while sketching something a new design on a tablet. If he had closed his eyes, he would have thought the phone conversation had her undivided attention and she was an industry professional operating under an alias; if he had seen her through soundproof glass, he would have thought she was operating in complete silence, or soft music, giving her full attention to her art. Instead, it was almost as if she was synergizing both the creativity and analysis, drawing on energy from each to feed the other.

It was beautiful.

It was one detail away from perfection.

_Where are your earrings?_

Nathalie would have known what was going on.

He dialed her again, but, as per the last several dozen times, the call went directly to voicemail. He wondered if she had fled the country.

 

* * *

 

 Adrien was clearly delirious.

He was swaddled in a mountain of blankets, and hissed quietly when the door opened. Marinette stepped through, and closed the door quickly.

“Oh, oops,” she said, noticing that the floor to ceiling windows had blackout curtains over them now. “You’re light sensitive, aren’t you?”

A quiet chuckle. “My night vision definitely isn’t what it used to be. Marinette, I’m so glad you’re here. You have nothing to apologize for, ever, you’re perfect.”

She blushed furiously, and was grateful for the dark. “I’m not, but I’m flattened FLATTERED that you think so.”

More weak laughter. “You can relax. I’m freaked out, too. There are chairs, if you’d like to join me.”

“Okay,” she said, picking her way closer and being very careful not to trip in the absolute darkness. It was unnerving her that Tikki had not said hello yet.

Two chairs had been pulled up next to Adrien’s bed. Marinette took the closer one. “How are you feeling?” she asked. His face was as gaunt as his father’s, but his hair was unkempt, making him look a lot like Chat Noir.

“Warm,” he said. “But it’s a good warm.” He looked up with her, and there was mirth and just a little sass in his sunken, dulled eyes. “You think I look like Chat Noir, all wrapped up in my purrito.”

Marinette laughed softly. “You’ve done so much modeling and voice acting for him, you’re starting to pick up his mannerisms.”

“It’s a lot of fun,” Adrien said, still not cluing her in to the joke. For some reason, Marinette’s eye kept being pulled to a blemish on the wall, recently covered over with new drywall but not yet painted. “He’s a great guy. Do you want to know who he is, Ladybug?”

“More than almost anything- Lord Bug? Mister Bug?”

“I always knew I would take your last name,” he said, clearly in the full throes of some kind of fever. “He’s-”

“No.”

He winced. That must have been too loud. “No?”

“I’m not sure why Tikki didn’t tell you, but identities are important. I’m not certain how you learned who Chat Noir is, but it’s important that I don’t, especially since I don’t have a Miraculous any more to defend myself with. And it’s very important he not learn who you are.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Adrien muttered.

“HOW?!?” Marinette said, with rising panic. Adrien winced again; she had to be more careful to watch her volume. “It’s only been a few days, and you’ve been sick the whole time!”

Adrien paused, clearly having trouble concentrating. “He introduced himself that first night.”

The bottom dropped out of Marinette’s stomach. “Adrien. Where’s Tikki?”

He rolled over and curled up on himself as much as the blanket cocoon would allow. “She’s safe,” he said. “They went back to the Miracle Box; Master Fu should have them now.”

“What do you mean THEY?” Marinette asked, as quietly as she could, and fighting her rising bile. “Plagg, too?”

“Hey Marinette, I’m suddenly feeling very sick to my stomach, can you reach me the water from the desk?”

“You made a wish,” Marinette said, beginning to hyperventilate. “That’s how your mom was saved. Did you know about the cost? What did it cost you?”

“I can’t breathe,” he begged. “Can you go get my mom please? I’m getting very scared-”

Marinette stood. “Your dad was nearby, and said to call him if we needed anything. I’ll go get him. But pass a message to Chat Noir for me. It’s time we talked.”

“NO. My mom. Not my father. And then come right back. It’s important, please, I need you-”

Marinette stood, taking much less care to not stumble across the dark room. He hissed again, and winced, as the door opened to let in the light.

She found Emilie first. “It sounds like Adrien’s migraine is getting much worse,” she said.

“Thank you for finding me,” Emilie said, walking quickly to her son’s door. “He probably just needs his medicine.”

 

* * *

 

 Marinette could not have arrived at Master Fu’s apartment faster if she had gone by yo-yo, but it was already too late. The door was locked, and when she tried to peer through the window, it was empty and dark.

When she tried to call, the number was disconnected.

Marianne was not at her customary bench.

Marinette spent the rest of the day, frantic, searching.

 

* * *

 

Félix opened the door to his Tokyo apartment and sighed at the absolute mayhem. It consistently shocked him, no matter how minimalist his aesthetic, how creative his family was in completely trashing his home. “You could have just texted me with what you couldn’t find, love,” he called to his wife.

“Your passport,” she called back. “We’re going to Paris.”

Félix had to stare at the ring on his left hand. Even though his soul belonged to Bridgette, now, and not the tiny black asshole, sometimes they agreed, and he rarely liked what happened when they did.

“We said we were normal people living normal lives, for at least another year,” he reminded her. He had probably already lost, but fighting valiantly in the face of certain defeat was just something he did, when the tiny black asshole was involved. “The doctors said no strenuous physical activity for you for another seven months, and then probably a bit after that, and there’s no part of transforming that’s not. And I’m not going to, unless you do.”

“Who said anything about transforming?” Bridgette said, sticking her head out from beyond the doorway. “Love, haven’t you been paying attention to your phone?”

“I’ve been screening every French number since Hawkmoth was defeated,” Félix confessed, “and from the state of the apartment, we’re not going to be there for the Style Queen victory reception, no matter how good the networking would be.”

Bridgette flew across the room and tackle-hugged Félix. She was shaking. His heart sank.

“They found the bodies, didn’t they. Are Tikki and Plagg safe, or are we going to have a dark-mirror kind of situation going on? Or did some idiot make a wish?”

“It’s worse than any of that,” Bridgette sobbed. “My love, Nathalie is in the hospital, and no one can find anything wrong with her, but she won’t wake up.”

It turned out it didn’t matter that Félix wore Bridgette’s ring and not Plagg’s. He felt the Cataclysm building in his hand anyway. He held his wife with his right arm, and made sure to keep his left hand a safe distance away from her. “My passport is at the office,” Félix said. “When does the plane leave?”

René arrived home fifteen minutes later to a still-trashed apartment, a refrigerator full of his favorite bento, and a closet missing two suitcases. He pulled out his new phone and dialed Master Fu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel does not yet realize that he's not the one steering this story.
> 
> A major overarching theme in Miraculous is *symmetry*. Good luck balances bad, Illusion balances Truth, etc. And I hope the twist doesn't throw off too many people/ was heavily foreshadowed enough that it makes sense in retrospect. I was also careful to clarify that the symptoms Adrien is experiencing do not match the symptoms Canon!Nathalie was experiencing (the cough) don't match Echidna!Adrien's (the headache).
> 
> Adrien's sickness is still magical in nature, and significant, and we'll find out what caused it next chapter. I'm taking a bit to balance some delicate interpersonal interactions, which cascade down into our first fight sequence.
> 
> Also, point of order: it is *very easy* to take a Miraculous from someone who is either unconscious, or too weak to defend themselves.


	8. (Cat)erpillar - Part 3

The first thing that Adrien saw when he woke up was his father, still in yesterday’s clothes, sketching on a tablet. Gabriel had clearly either sat with him the whole night, or come in very early this morning. He must have felt the eyes on him, because he put down his tablet and met Adrien’s gaze with a small smile.

Adrien flinched and checked the brooch on his pajamas. Still there. His father had every opportunity to have taken it, and didn’t. That was promising, but he needed to do a better job of defending it.

“Happy birthday, Adrien,” Gabriel said.

Adrien felt every ounce of the sadness and guilt his father felt, when he realized he had checked for the brooch.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Father,” Adrien said. “My birthday was in October. We had to renegotiate my contract since I’m not a minor any more, remember?”

“That’s a very good question, but I’m sure you can find the answer. What do I mean?”

Adrien thought for a moment, then sat upright, shedding the top layer of his blanket cocoon and rubbing his face. He was sticky with sweat from his illness, but Gabriel did not flinch away. “You’re… proud of me?”

“More than I ever have been,” Gabriel said, “and profoundly grateful. It was important that this be the first thing you Felt; I want to keep nothing further from you. But Nooroo is hatching, and I promised that if Nooroo ever saw me again, it would not be because I forced it, so I must take my leave for now. Your contract has been terminated effective today; the related severance has already posted to your bank account, to which you now have unfettered access and ironclad privacy for the first time. Any modeling work you wish to do for me will be on an ad-hoc basis; you may opt in to individual shoots, instead of being scheduled far in advance. If you wish, you may find me in my office, where you may select anything at all from anything I have ever designed as your new wardrobe. I request that you be conscientious about wearing something from another label as it will be a public reproach on the family name. Though, if you chose to do so, or even to model for a competitor, I would respect that decision. You may also wish to wait for the upcoming season. Your friend Marinette will be heavily featured, and while I have always profoundly respected her work, I suspect you are even more of a fan of her creations than I.”

“Father, you don’t have to do this,” Adrien said, but Gabriel was already at the door.

“You don’t want to miss the hatching,” Gabriel said softly. Adrien did not need to see his face to feel his regret. “It is beautiful. Nooroo is the Kwami of Transmission, and I, too, was far too focused on the one who gave it to me to give it the attention that it deserved. Had I not already given my word, seeing the hatching would give me another decade of inspiration at the absolute minimum. I must leave, for now, but from this moment forward, if you need my attention for anything at all, it is yours.”

Gabriel set the door to lock on his departure, and was gone.

Adrien shucked off the rest of his cocoon, stepping out of bed on wobbly legs. He opened the small cabinet beneath his fencing trophies. The violet silk chrysalis was trembling slightly, as if afraid. Adrien had put the silk scarf he had received from a birthday long ago in, to make it a little more homey, and the sock puppet Plagg had made waited in the cabinet with it for company.

“Hello,” he ventured.

It did not respond.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he told it.

It continued to tremble.

“Do you like music?” he asked it. “Let me play something for you.” He left the cabinet door open, but walked to the piano, flexing his fingers in hand exercises. It was amazing what a few days of illness did for mistakes; every joint felt like it had been realigned.

He knew Brian Crain’s [ _Butterfly Waltz_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqCdKOdX5FQ) well enough to not need to look at the sheet music. He had planned to use it to confess to Ladybug, when they had someday won, in another, less strange world. He supposed he still could. That last conversation at the Arc de Triomphe had been cat-astropic, and she had been adamant enough that she did not want to know who Chat Noir was, but was it possible she just wanted to save it for when he was in a better frame of mind? A random supply closet was not the best venue for her to introduce herself properly, but at the nick of time to save his family was a Lucky Charm if he had ever seen one, and he had been so surrounded by friends and loved ones he supposed his Lady had taken the first opportunity for privacy she had. She clearly already knew, after all- or why would she have known who to give her Miraculous to in the first place? That was clearly it. She knew; she just wanted to hear him say it in a way that would give their kids a more romantic story. She had swung in on her yo-yo of fate to save his family; he needed to do better than whatever delirious migraine-confession he had tried if he wanted to be her other half.

He regretted not being able to do it by proposing to her with Plagg’s ring.

That same warm, loved feeling stayed with him as he played. It was there as the bottom of the chrysalis split open, and the tip of a soft lavender wing began to emerge. A leg followed, then another, then the other wing tip. The tiny lavender kwami used its arms to push its abdomen out of the chrysalis, then its thorax, upper wings sticking to its back. Then it reached its arms back into the chrysalis, and burst the opening wide enough for its head.

Nooroo fell from his chrysalis onto the soft scarf, and opened his eyes.

Adrien stood on limbs he was remembering how to use again, and walked over to the cabinet. “Hello,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Master,” Nooroo said. “How may I serve you?”

Adrien was shocked by how fundamentally different Nooroo was from Plagg. “I’m not your master, but I’d like to be your friend.”

Nooroo took a moment to regard him. “Was that an order? I’m sorry, I did not understand.”

“No,” Adrien said, “I don’t want to give you orders. If you’d like to be my Kwami, I would love to get to know you. Otherwise, I can take you back to the Miracle Box. My Kwami for the last few years and I… ended up having to part ways, at least for now. He's really mad at me, but I hope he forgives me someday.”

Nooroo looked around, and noticed the doll. “I do not know what Plagg did to anger you, Your Eminence,” he whispered, terrified, “but please do not turn me into a sock.”

Adrien burst out laughing. “I didn’t turn Plagg into a sock, but I had that exact same reaction when Plagg made that doll for me. He had actually snuck away to try to track you down on your birthday and save you, but that meant he wasn’t here to help me transform. Am I right that we’re psychic, now? Can I send some kind of vibrations your way to prove to you that’s not Plagg?”

“Empaths, Your Grace,” Nooroo said. “You can sense strong emotions. I know what you are feeling, not what you are thinking. You seem gentle and kind, but many wielders of Miraculouses have genuinely believed they worked for the greater good while committing atrocities.”

“I’m sorry for how my father treated you,” Adrien said, allowing himself to feel the full force of his regret and hoping Nooroo read it. “He is single-minded when on a mission, and being without my mother has been very rough on both of us. It doesn’t make up for it, of course, and I’m never going to ask you for help if you don’t want to give it, but I don’t think he’s evil. I think he’s trying to earn our trust back.”

Nooroo regarded Adrien for a moment. Kwami psychology must be fundamentally different from humans, because Adrien had no idea what Nooroo was thinking. Strangely, Nooroo appeared to be having no trouble reading Adrien at all.

“I can be your Kwami,” Nooroo said. “But if you wish to be Plagg’s chosen again at some point, please pass me on to the Guardian. It has been a very long time since I have had the opportunity to go home.”

“I’m really glad,” Adrien said. “And I plan to tell the Guardian you’re safe as soon as I can get in contact with him, so you can see your friends at the very least. Can I get you a snack? I have a fridge full of camembert, but can get something else for you, if you prefer.”

Nooroo’s expression broke Adrien’s heart. “I’m allowed to choose?”

 

* * *

 

Marinette was intimidated by how much confidence the Agreste men had in her abilities.

“This is everything I want, but too soon,” she told Gabriel softly. “I’m eighteen. I’m too young for a spotlight at Paris Fashion Week.”

They took a moment to watch Emilie preen to herself, in a feather-soft evening gown she had planned to wear to the post-election gala. Marinette had previously had the design purely in the concept stages, inspired by the way Emilie floated instead of walked, but Gabriel had seen it and immediately scrapped his own work to rush hers to production, and now Emilie was wearing it like haute couture. It didn’t even matter that she appeared to be flirting with herself, for once, instead of her husband; his eyes followed her as if he was in a trance anyway.

“Tell that to Miranda Priestly,” he murmured back. “Audrey showed her your portfolio, but didn’t tell her your age. Mme. Priestly is slow to praise and swift to critique, but believes that you are already an industry icon operating under an assumed name. Edna Mode has discovered who you are- where that woman gets her intel has been a mystery for years- and has told me in no uncertain terms that you are ready for a subsidiary company, and that if I do not take you under my wing, she will take you under hers. You are a formidable young lady who I have no desire to compete against professionally; I consider myself to have already lost. Consider this losing strategically.”

“But I haven’t even graduated université. I haven’t even graduated lycée.”

“The beautiful thing about art of any kind, is the intersection of hard work and talent. Lycée will give you a core understanding of how to move in the world. Université will give you a pedigree, networking, and technical skills. Both are necessary, in the long run. But you have both the hard work and the talent to be successful now; you had it when you were fourteen. ESMOD will be bragging about you as an alumna far longer than you will be citing them in your pedigree. You are gifted. Let me give you this. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“I don’t want a gift, Marinette said. “I’m so grateful for the doors you’re opening for me, but I want to earn it.”

He sighed. “Could you consider it payment for a debt I already owe you?”

Marinette’s expression flattened. “Would you even be offering it, if I had never met Adrien?”

“Perhaps not,” he replied. “And in that world, I would be dissolving my company instead, to the benefit of no one.”

“Why? It’s a billion-dollar, international company.”

He laughed hollowly. “I cannot run it without Nathalie. As much as it would give me pleasure to see Adrien take over the corporate side, recent events have given me new perspectives on the matter, and I will no longer force him to do anything at all. I would not blame him if he even gives up modeling. With Nathalie’s disappearance, the entire burden of running the brand falls to me, and I have found that my heart is simply no longer in the work. It is a company that has crossed the decision point to become raw materials sooner or later- and I would rather steer its collapse to someone who can make good use of it. Put some thought into your brand, and mine will launch it if it is the last thing it does.”

Marinette continued to stare at her designs long after the Agrestes took their leave. Submitting designs was semi-anonymous; any of them not ready for the world could be rejected or have modifications requested. Corporate decisions could be submitted  to Gabriel for approval, or sent to a contractor for collaboration. But as she sat on the ground and stared at her pantheon of designs, her mind was blank- and, unhelpfully, filling itself with anxiety and impostor syndrome instead of anything she could use.

“What do I even call you,” she mused to herself.

“”How about Lucky Brand?” came a too-familiar, unexpected voice from behind her.

Marinette tried to stand up as if electrified, but lost her balance midway. The crate of two dozen or so gourmet sodas and packet of silly straws Adrien had been carrying crashed against the buffet near the door, as he flew to her, catching her hand and pulling her close, as if they had been figure skating.

...uncomfortably close.

 _Chat Noir_ close.

He winced, stepping back, hand going to the back of his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was really forward of me. I startled you and then I embarrassed you. I’ll ask, next time.”

“N...n...no, I’m okay! You’re okay, that was okay, okay? Okay, I’m going to shut up now, this is a disaster.”

“I promise, it’s fine,” he said, blushing. “And in case you ever need it, you have permission to do whatever you need to, to me, for safety reasons, and I promise I will never think worse of you for it. I meant that text. I love you, you have my absolute trust and I will never doubt you again. And you don’t have to give me that same permission, until you feel like I’ve earned it.” He paused. “I’m sorry for not talking to you about the Wish. I thought you had known, and that’s why you-” He blushed, and did not continue.

_Oh._

OH.

“It’s okay,” Marinette said, lying. “It’s not your fault. Nobody had explained to you the risks or the consequences.”

Adrien fidgeted. “To be completely honest, nobody had told Chat Noir, either.”

Marinette’s stomach clenched. Adrien put his hand on his own, sympathetically. “Have you heard from him recently?”

“He wants to meet you,” Adrien said, smiling. “Now that it’s over, and we’ve won.”

“He’s alive, then,” Marinette said, and finally let herself feel the relief and fear she had been repressing.

“Wait, what?” Adrien asked. “Why would you have thought he was dead?”

“I would have thought it was obvious for anyone who was reading the Ladyblog.” She swallowed, and continued. “We were incredibly close. He kept telling me he was in love with me; I’m not sure if he was serious, he always phrased it as a joke, but he might have been. But the last time I saw him, he was reckless- a little crazy- and seriously tempted to work for Hawkmoth. I actually thought he was going to fight me for Tikki’s earrings. He told me he loved me in the past tense, and it _hurt_. I think he knew it. I think he wanted it to. That contributed to why I couldn’t keep them; he visits my balcony sometimes, and I needed to talk to him as Marinette, because somehow, I wasn’t able to reach him as Ladybug, and it’s so important that Hawkmoth didn’t get them. But then he never showed, and I never heard from him again. Love me or hate me, I just don’t believe he would have left it like he did unless something serious had happened to him. I wasn’t just the wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous, to him.”

“May I hug you?” Adrien asked her. She nodded, and tried not to cry. “I love you,” he soothed. “I love you, and he loves you, and we’re okay.”

“Is he evil, now?” Marinette asked. “The only answers I could come up with were dead, or prisoner, or evil. And I can’t find Master Fu, and that’s scaring me.”

“Never,” Adrien said, and rubbed her back. “He could never be evil, and would never do anything to harm you, that’s obvious to everyone.”

“He was working for Hawkmoth,” Marinette said, “and I trust him, but Hawkmoth is a manipulative bastard who does not fight fair. Chat Noir is a good person, the best person, and I don’t want either of us to have to end up fighting him, especially if he’s not Akumatized, if he’s doing this because he wants to.”

He shifted, holding an eye against her cheek, and batted his eyelashes.

…”What was that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, with a small smile. “Call it a weird instinct. But it made you smile, and that’s what matters to me.”

“You’re fantastic,” she said, laughing away some of the tension. “Let’s check in with Chat Noir.”

Adrien nodded, continuing to bat his eyelashes. “Does a phone call work?”

“If that’s all I can get,” Marinette said. “But honestly, I’d rather know for sure Hawkmoth isn’t listening. In person is better. I’m probably going to need some time, though, because I’m going to need a costume change.”

Adrien pinked again, hand going back to behind his head.

“What did I say…?”

“Oh, it’s… nothing. I just, I don’t have to wear the _Radiant, Carefree, Dreamy_ branding any more. I honestly want to burn it all; it’s been a bit of a ball and chain for years. And it looks like everything Lucky Brand has made so far has been for women. I’ve always wanted some of the punnier tee shirts I’ve seen online, but did you happen to design any men’s or unisex sweaters…?”

 _Happy twenty-fourth birthday_ , Marinette thought, hoping that the Curse of the Love Sweater wasn’t real. “Yeah, I think I can throw something together fairly easily.”

 

* * *

 

“YOU NEVER FED HIM?!?”

Gabriel looked up from his tablet to meet his son’s furious gaze. None of the glass bottles of soda in the crate he had slammed down on his desk shattered, thankfully. “From your tone, I should be apologizing,” he said, trying to separate out the rage that Transmission was unconsciously sending him and remain submissive. “but I’m not sure I understand why. Who did I fail to feed?”

Adrien was looking at him like an utter failure of a human being, which was probably accurate. Empaths tend to be very good at assessing people’s character. “I’ve been trying to decide whether to try to rebuild a relationship with you and make this dysfunctional, broken family work as best it can, or whether you’re under house arrest and I’m your secret jailer for my entire adult life. Finding out that you hadn’t tried for Nooroo’s brooch was so promising! But then this happens? Plagg might have acted like I hadn’t fed him in years every time he saw me, but IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE NOOROO HAS EXPERIENCED FLAVORS THAT HE DOESN’T HAVE A FAVORITE. HE LOVES ALL OF THEM. How the heck do you traumatize a literal god?”

Gabriel sighed, and put the tablet down. “This is why you were constrained by the recharging mechanism. Be the master of your Kwami, do not let it be the master of you. It’s not traumatized, and it doesn’t need food now any more than it does when it’s dormant. It’s immortal; it’s not a pet.”

“Don’t tell me he was actually surviving on tears?” Adrien said, incredulously.

“It wasn’t,” Gabriel soothed, trying to reassure him while being careful to be as noncombative as possible. “It was only saying that, when it was trying not to comply with orders.”

Apparently he was still emoting strongly, because Adrien put his hands to his forehead and started massaging it. “I thought you were working _me_ sick, how did he ever have the strength to do everything you made him without food?”

Gabriel breathed deeply, calming and centering himself and willing his son to share it. He had given him enough misery; it was time to give him peace. “The timer, and the recharging, are limitations of the wielder, not the Kwami. You should train with the Cat, to overcome it.”

The peace was apparently ineffective, because Adrien started to laugh angrily. “Oh, I’m not letting you and Plagg anywhere near each other. He’s defensive of his friends, and if he lashes out, I don’t trust myself to stop him, right now.”

“It hasn’t made its way back to you, then?” Gabriel asked, quirking his mouth in confusion.

“Plagg is a person. _Nooroo_ is a person. And you know very well I don’t have Plagg, he’s in the Miracle Box, and I haven’t left the house since the hospital.”

“I had assumed Marinette would have returned him to you,” he said, simply.

The tidal waves of anger Gabriel was receiving changed immediately to crippling fear, as Adrien dropped his hands. Gabriel wasn’t sure whether Adrien’s stance had shifted to fight or flight. “How did you know?”

“Chat Noir has only ever loved two women, and could even be described as having a type. He had one of these women’s most iconic accessory within hours of Adrien spending an intimate moment with the other. It was enough to give me a suspicion; your response confirmed it.”

“Is that why she’s here?”

“She’s here because I owe her a debt of gratitude, and because I was sincere about retiring. She will take over the company, before the summer is through.” Gabriel paused, still trying in vain to read Adrien. “I had assumed that this arrangement would give you two access to each other and the excuse to spend time together, and needed to make a decision while you were indisposed. If you would prefer that she not, I can invent some reason to fire her, or push her into quitting. She will probably grieve, of course, but I can make her blame me completely, and it shouldn’t have to affect her relationship with you or her confidence in her own abilities.”

“This is a mess,” Adrien said. “I’m beginning to think you should have gone to jail. You’d be able to cause less trouble there.”

“It is not too late to send me there,” Gabriel offered. “Certainly Nooroo will tell any court of law anything you instruct it to, and while I’m uncertain whether France would accept the testimony of a Kwami, it will certainly be enough to sway a jury. Certainly the Guardian would not be against returning the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses, if human testimony is required.”

“You’re fixating on them. I don’t know why it’s so important to you that we get them back, and it’s making me think you’re plotting something. She won’t need them, to do anything necessary to stop whatever you’re plotting, if she ever finds out who you were,” Adrien said. “And she will. She’s figured out that the Wish was what brought back Mom, already. If I thought Plagg would be furious, Marinette will be a force of nature, and I can’t promise I’ll stop her. Depending on the circumstances, I might help. Giving her the company won’t save you.”

“I will meet what justice I have coming to me,” Gabriel said. “Your mother is awake.”

“House arrest it is, then,” Adrien said, picking up the crate of sodas. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to _feed my Kwami.”_

 

* * *

 

Gabriel Agreste hated the outdoors.

The Gorilla dropped him off outside a sensible apartment building in a sensible neighborhood, and then drove off. Gabriel walked calmly up the stairs, and let himself in. He had paid for this apartment; of course he knew the code to the front door.

He hated not being able to feel whether anyone was watching him or feeling anything unusual.

He hated not knowing whether changing his clothes to something he had not designed, his posture to something a little more slovenly, was sufficient to deflect the attention of unnoticeable pedestrians.

It was only a few feet, but it felt like a gauntlet.

The stairs to the second story, the hall to his destination, were safer. He would hear any doors opening, but there were none.

He knocked, but there was no answer.

“Nathalie?” he called softly.

When he was met with no answer, he let himself in, and closed the door.

Too late, he noticed ice-blue eyes in the dark.

“I was wondering when you would show up.”

“Hello, Félix,” he sighed. “Aren’t you a little old to be sitting melodramatically in the dark?”

“Leave.”

Gabriel wished he knew where the light switch was; he had never actually let himself in to this apartment before. “Are you the reason my assistant has disappeared with no access to her phone?”

“No,” Félix said, and threw something ice-cold at Gabriel. The moonlight was enough for him to catch it. He looked down at an amethyst, five-feathered brooch. “That is.”

Gabriel stared at it. “How do you know what this is?”

“How do _you_? And why is it purple?”

“It is not because of this. That’s not possible. She only used it once.”

“Apparently, it was enough.”

“Where is she?”

“You’re never going to see her again,” Félix said, and was gone.

It took Gabriel three minutes by the light of his watch to find the light switch. When he did, he found an undisturbed, tastefully outfitted apartment, where nothing unnatural could possibly have occurred at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Curse of the Love Sweater reflects the belief that if a knitter gives a handmade sweater to someone they are dating, it will lead to the recipient breaking up with the knitter. In a 2005 poll, 15% of active knitters said that they had experienced the sweater curse firsthand, and 41% considered it a possibility that should be taken seriously. Marinette, being a fashion designer, is probably familiar with the Curse; Adrien, being a model, is probably not.
> 
> Some common sense workarounds include involving the recipient in designing the sweater and choosing materials, not overly investing emotional weight into the creation of the sweater as allegory for the relationship, and confirming with the recipient that they will actually wear the sweater. There are also more folklore workarounds, including weaving one's hairs into the fibers of the sweater to bind the wearer's love to you, or waiting until you are no longer dating, but are instead married.
> 
> Now that I think about it, it sounds deeply symbolic of something else.


	9. (Cat)erpillar - Part 4

“It’s tickling my nose!” Nooroo squealed, delightedly grasping the fluorescent purple silly straw sticking out of his bottle of soda and shaking his head to clear it. “Is soda supposed to be this bubbly?”

Adrien laughed, and poked Nooroo’s belly. “You don’t even have a nose! You don’t even have a proboscis, that’s what the straw is for.”

Nooroo’s eyes went wide, as he considered for a moment. “It’s tickling _your_ nose!” Nooroo decided. “You’re just used to it!”

Adrien took a moment to think about this, and realized only after doing so that he had crossed his eyes, sending Nooroo into a hysterical fit of the giggles. He pitched forward so far that he started to somersault, and had to use his adorable little wings to right himself.

“If this is what you’re like on sugar, remind me to never give you wine,” Adrien said, grinning. Maybe it was the link with Nooroo, but he had never enjoyed a Coca-Cola as much in his life.

“Oh, alcohol has been around for a long time,” Nooroo said, “The last time I shared a wielder with Plagg, we invented it. But these are bubbly and make me feel bubbly and they’re great. Do I really have to pick a favorite?”

“Not if you don’t want to, but please let you know if you can narrow it down. Otherwise, how am I supposed to treat you?” Adrien asked.

“Like this, please!”

“No, I mean, when I want to do something special for you. I’m used to having cheese waiting for Plagg every time we transform back, or I get home from school, or honestly whenever I need to bribe him for something. I’d like to do something nice for you, too.”

“You don’t have to,” Nooroo said, flopping backwards onto the desk and resting. “This is already so good. That’s a lot of cheese, and that would be a lot of soda. Are you going to need me to send out a lot of butterflies? We can practice, so you won’t have to worry about recharging.”

“Absolutely not,” Adrien promised. “This is for fun only. I don’t want to be Hawkmoth at all.”

Nooroo sat up, and looked at Adrien in that too-intense way he was starting to recognize. “You can’t be Hawkmoth at all,” he said, “the same way Rena Rouge can’t be Volpina.”

Relief hit Adrien like he was sliding into a warm bath, and it was probably Nooroo’s, but he felt it as if it was his own. He laughed, from the joy of a burden lifted. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that, before you believe me,” he said. “That part of your life is over.”

“I know you feel like that now,” Nooroo said, “but I don’t know if you’ll feel like that tomorrow. What use am I to you if you don’t want to transform?”

“Hey, come here,” Adrien invited Nooroo, who obeyed. He held him to his heart, rubbing the place where his wings met his back gently. “You don’t have to be useful at all. I really just want to be friends.”

“You’re lonely,” Nooroo said, and Adrien heard the truth in it. “Or I am. We are.”

Adrien flopped back onto his couch, keeping Nooroo close to his heart as his mood fell. “I would have thought at least Nino would have called. Am I really that forgettable?”

Nooroo smiled. “How’s your head?”

“Thank you for the reminder!” Adrien said, going for his pills.

“Wait just a minute before you take those,” Nooroo said. “If you’re okay to turn on your devices, you’re going to want to Feel all of what you find. And the pills will still be there if you need the extra help, but you’re through the worst of the headaches by this point, if you’re like most of my Chosen.”

“It’s still really overwhelming,” Adrien said, turning on his phone for the first time that week. “I think I’m getting a handle on what I’m feeling and what I’m Feeling, but, wow, filtering them is very hard. How did my father possibly zone in on one person at a time, especially when he didn’t know them well?”

“You’ll be able to, soon enough,” Nooroo encouraged. “Pick someone who sent you a message.”

“A message?” Adrien asked, as his phone finished booting up.

It chimed with a text message, which he clicked.

_The wave of protective concern exploded out of his chest, like a gentle, insistent pull, but without a direction. It was tempered by a slight worry about fully expressing that emotion, but a core understanding that his bro was not feeling well and he should be there with him, this shouldn’t be someone else’s responsibility. He responded to some offscreen speaker with a warm connection, loving, respectful, slightly in awe, and accepted their -no that was definitely a her- hug like a lifeline. He reached for his phone, turned the music up, and put his arms around her. It’s over, he tried to reassure himself. It’s over and we won, and Ladybug and Chat Noir are just tying up loose ends and will come receive every ounce of the love and gratitude they deserve as soon as they’re ready. It’s going to be an amazing party, and he’s going to make absolutely sure his bro is there; there is no other commitment that could be more important. After all, this kind of event is intended to be shared with all the people who mean the most to you._

“Whoa, what was that?” Adrien asked, staring at his phone. It was just a Spotify playlist from Nino.

“It was your friend, loving you,” Nooroo encouraged.

“That was Nino?!?” Adrien exclaimed. “That was nuts. It was-”

“Exactly the kind of feelings you have for him,” Nooroo said.

Adrien took a minute to process that. Nino was a friend, and he liked and trusted him a lot, but this kind of single-minded dedication that Adrien would absolutely not miss out on an amazing event was among the sweetest gestures he had ever experienced.

“Pick another,” Nooroo encouraged, and Adrien scrolled past texts from Kim, selfies from Chloe, notes from Max with paired transcriptions of the missed classes from Markov, and a distressing amount of fan mail, before selecting the photo from graduation.

_It’s not a class photo, she felt, as she mounted it into a frame. It’s a graduation photo. It has everyone from graduation, but not the class. But Mylene and Ivan were going away for a year for their volunteering trip, and if they waited until Adrien felt well again they would miss Ivan and Mylene, and by the time they came back, it would be a reunion photo. That was cool, she tried to feel, but her gut told her it wasn’t, and she wasn’t going to call it a class photo until they were all there. She was profoundly grateful that she was in this one- she was in so few, it’s like she was completely erased from the class- and she was surrounded by people who cared about her, which was really cool. It had been a good class._

“Wow, I didn’t even think I was that close with Juleka,” Adrien muttered. “I mean, we were in the band, but I missed enough practices I didn’t even make the Bob Roth record deal.”

“She cares about you,” Nooroo told him. “Try another one, when you’re ready.”

Still reeling from the photo, Adrien clicked a DropBox link from Nathanael. In it, was gorgeous, high-res art of Adrien and Marinette holding hands, fading out the background to not dwell on the circumstances, but leaving what Adrien was praying was him and his new girlfriend in sharp relief. The file name, _The Love that Saved Paris,_ wasn’t wrong, and Nathanael’s approval of it was devastatingly meaningful, but the relief felt strange, secondhand, as if it wasn’t his own, as if it was _Nathanael_ he was loving, admiring, wishing he could confess to but unwilling to wreck years of hard-fought friendship on a one-sided crush, unwilling to risk Nathanael ever rejecting him like that again, finding the words for anything at all except the thing that mattered most-

“That’s not mine,” Adrien said, confused. “And it’s not Nathanael’s. The sender’s.”

“There’s probably something else triggering it,” Nooroo said, “The way that lockets can have two pictures in them, one on each side.”

Sure enough, beneath the art, there was a short, sweet, wildly inaccurate story about the presumed butterfly that was sent to Adrien in the hospital, the way that Marinette had cheered him up with love, and the way that Ladybug and Chat Noir had followed the confused butterfly back to Hawkmoth’s lair and defeated him. It was easily some of Marc’s best work.

Adrien’s eye kept being drawn back to the art. He hadn’t remembered Marinette’s expression like that. Maybe Nathanael was taking some artistic liberties, but the love in her eyes-

“Have that conversation with Marinette yourself,” Nooroo interrupted.

Adrien frowned. “I’ve spent enough time completely clueless about Marinette,” he said. “I have years of catching up to do, and I want to do them as soon as I can. Navigating doing it right- making her trust Chat Noir again, being the kind of boyfriend I want to be- is going to be really hard. Why can’t I use that extra help?”

“Because she wouldn’t want you to,” Nooroo said. “Understand her feelings when you’re interacting with her. Don’t spy on her.”

“She wrote me messages, though,” Adrien objected. “Can’t I at least read them?”

Nooroo stared at him, thoughtful. “I think that should be okay,” he said, softly.

Adrien opened the messages.

His eyes went wide.

A hand went to his mouth.

“For _years?_ ” he breathed, and kept reading. “She did _what?_ ”

Nooroo smiled at the joy his new wielder was experiencing, and fluttered back to his cabinet. He had done enough to give Ladybug and Chat Noir trouble. He could hold back the more negative emotions Marinette was feeling for long enough for her to process it and for their relationship to succeed. The boy who had once been Chat Noir had his brooch, and not the man who had once been Hawkmoth; Marinette was in no danger of a visit from an unnaturally purple butterfly, and could feel her negative emotions in peace and something that approached privacy.

Nooroo held Sock Plagg. He Felt, and worked through, her disappointment and fear, and kept them from Adrien. Sock Plagg was not as protective as the real thing, but he was cuddlier, and that helped.

 

* * *

 

Lila Rossi would crack the Agreste family yet. She had many talents, the forefront of which was sniffing out weakness and applying pressure where it counted most. Emilie “Sleeping Beauty” Agreste was too innocent for this world, and a perfect target. Getting a job with her had been child’s play. Becoming her most trusted advisor was close at hand.

“I’m losing,” she said in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“André is telling Paris what it wants to hear,” Lila soothed, bringing her boss a coffee and sitting beside her. “Telling people that Ladybug and Chat Noir have won and disappeared because they are no longer needed makes them feel good. Of course they’re going to want to believe that, instead of your very valid concern.”

“But what has Paris become along the way? Did you know that, when I woke, the first thing the doctors did was notify the Ladyblog? Before even my own family knew, before patient treatment or any semblance of human compassion, they were assessing me as a potential threat. They had good reason, of course. I was experiencing strong emotions.”

“Please don’t take it personally,” Lila said, meaning the opposite. “When you were found, everyone was afraid it was going to be Adrien who was the Akuma. We formed the closest thing to a militia that unarmed students could. It’s been a matter of survival.”

Emilie sighed heavily. “At least tell me that getting to this point was gradual, and that no one decided overnight to criminalize the passionate.”

“I wish I could,” Lila said. “I’m an outsider, too- with how much my parents travel, I am reminded every few months just how tone-deaf Paris is vs the rest of the world. All because of Hawkmoth.”

Lila took a moment to drink in the misery on Emilie’s beautiful face. Oh, she could use this, especially if her suspicions about her husband were true.

“I am heartbroken that we had a Hawkmoth in the first place,” Emilie said, “but he would never have accumulated such power if Paris’ institutional systems had not failed. _André has failed Paris._ I say this as his childhood friend; before my coma, I would have trusted him with my life, but he is simply not equipped to respond to a supernatural threat. And now he wants to throw a victory ball? What is he going to do if he finds out that the heroes have died?”

“He’s going to be just as embarrassed as he is at every other time except for election season,” Lila responded, trying to cheer Emilie up. “He’s a fool.”

Emilie looked at Lila, regarding her. “You probably don’t have any personal knowledge, but Alya of the Ladyblog is in your class. Maybe she let something slip. Was there, at least, some kind of large-scale manhunt for Hawkmoth? At first I had thought it was simply happening below the radar- announcing such a manhunt would, itself, be a strategic choice, after all- but Officer Raincomprix was not aware of such a plot, and from my conversation with her when I awoke, neither was Chloé the Bee. Clearly, Ladybug and Chat Noir had such a plan, to defeat Hawkmoth without a fight, but their radio silence in the aftermath makes the mother in me fear for their safety.”

“If there had been some kind of a manhunt, André Bourgeois would be bragging about it by now,” Lila said. “I think he mostly sat and hoped for the best.” She shrugged. “And now he's a war hero.”

Emilie laughed bitterly. “André Bourgeois is a terrible parent. If it had been Adrien who had been ultimately responsible for the fate of the city, I would have called upon every angel in Heaven and every demon in Hell to protect him. André had the means to send all of Paris’s garbage to space, for a publicity stunt! Why was there nothing he could do, nothing at all, that may have helped one or both of Paris’s power couple to be here today? It’s his fault, as much as Hawkmoth’s. He’s going to ride into a sixth term on the coattails of fallen children. It breaks my heart.”

“I think,” Lila said, “it’s actually time that we take a leaf from the Bourgeois playbook.”

Emilie looked up to regard her. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Lila gave Emilie her sweetest, most innocent smile. “Chloé has been discussing the strategy at length. _Loudly_ . As if she believes that no one can use it against her. _The key to winning in politics is ruining your opponent’s reputation._ I can help with that. You have the ear of the Ladyblogger, _she_ can help with that.”

Emilie shook her head. “I would never stoop to negative campaigning. I want Paris to select me for mayor based on my virtues, not vote against André for his sins.”

_Oh, come on. Work with me here. I can help you._

“You’re too pure for this world,” Lila said, making sure to make it sound like a compliment.

Emilie smiled. “Then this world needs to be purified.”


	10. (Cat)erpillar - Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien has a beautiful plan for tonight.

 “Don’t you think this is a little soon?” Nino said, following Adrien to the ninth shop. “You’ve been dating for, like, a month.”

“No,” Adrien said firmly, as they opened a gigantic glass door, where row upon row of glass cases protected glittering objects resting on plush cushions. “I think it’s long overdue. Just swear that you won’t tell Alya.”

 

* * *

 

“Nino told you,” Adrien said, annoyed but grinning despite himself.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Alya said. “Your excitement has been contagious ever since you woke up, it’s been a month of riding your secondhand sugar high. But I got a weird feeling, so I did some Research.”

“Remind me never to get on the wrong side of the Ladyblogger for anything serious,” Adrien laughed. “Your Research has come a long way since collége. Tell me you haven’t spoiled it for Marinette, at least.”

“Absolutely not,” Alya responded. “I’m going to help you plan it. This has to be perfect. So, when are you going to ask her?”

“I was thinking the victory party Mayor Bourgeois is throwing,” Adrien said. “Can I ask you and Nino to disappear for a bit and give us some privacy?”

Alya gave a faraway smile. “Yeah, I think we can come up with something to do by ourselves. They can’t find Ladybug or Chat Noir, but Chloé is going to be there, of course, and there’s a rumor going around that Rena Rouge and Carapace might show; I want to try to track them down.”

 

* * *

 

When Sabine emerged from Marinette’s bedroom, where she had been helping her prepare for the Ladybug and Chat Noir victory party, Tom had Adrien in a massive bear hug.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said softly, “but Marinette is done. Are you ready for the big reveal?”

“I don’t think I ever will be,” Adrien said, reverently. “But more than the first time.”

He watched her descend from the stairs like he was watching her walk down an aisle. She caught his eyes and blushed furiously, but did not wobble on her low heels. The wide neckline showed off chiseled collar bones and long sleeves emphasized elegant, muscular arms. Her tea-length silk skirt whispered as she walked, and the sheer, black underskirt moved like iridescent wings. She wore a glittering gold chain, and from it hung a [pendant of an onyx-black cat with emerald eyes, curled protectively around a tiny ruby](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11644460/1/Secret-Santa). Her earlobes were bare.

She stopped, an arm’s length away from Adrien, and they said nothing.

Unnoticed, Sabine winked at Tom, who had his hand over his mouth. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s take some pictures. We won’t be able to, once we’ve set up our booth at the party.”

“Yes,” Tom said, as if fighting tears. “We’re going to want some pictures of you two, tonight.”

 

* * *

 

“I never thought you could look better in red, than how I’m used to seeing you,” Adrien murmured in Marinette’s ear, and it was a good thing that they were already sitting down, or he would have had to catch her.

The Gorilla caught her eye in the rearview mirror, and gave her a thumbs up.

"Oh-erm, you surprised me! And . . . um . . . you also look good in bed-I mean, red! Not bed . . . red! Although . . . you also-I mean, you were sick, not that way, but yeah, probably also that way. . . oh forget it."

“You can relax,” he soothed, thumb rubbing the triangle of skin between her pointer, thumb, and wrist. “I’m sorry for scaring you. It’s just me.”

 _Oh, no, you’re cute,_ she felt, and it was three times stronger than she was used to. She didn’t think she had said it aloud, but she must have, because he flushed as red as her dress, and the contrast with his acid-green tie and black tuxedo made it look like she had strangled him. His other hand went to the back of his head in embarrassment, mussing his hair more than the seat of the limousine already had.

They rode in silence for a while, and Marinette was certain that she caught The Gorilla smiling at them in the rearview mirror.

“What did you talk to my dad about?” she asked, finally. “He looked like he was going to cry with happiness.”

He squeezed her hand, and her eye moved towards the slightly paler, more recessed space where he had once worn a ring on his right hand, as he moved his thumb from the triangle above hers, to fiddle with the space of her palm directly above her left ring finger. “Let me surprise you?”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, Mr. Dupain,” Adrien said into the big man’s chest, as he melted into the bear hug. The raw emotions of family and tenderness they were feeling were like oxygen after holding his breath to its limit, and Adrien felt years of tension in his muscles fall away. It wasn’t the happily ever after he was expecting, but it clearly was one, and if it was his, he would embrace it.

“Just promise me you’ll be good to my little girl,” Tom said, and a fierce bout of protectiveness spiked through the air. “She’s spent a long time trying to catch your attention. Promise me you’ll take care of her, encourage her, back her up.”

Adrien smiled, and hoped his certainty was bleeding over into Tom. “I’ve always tried to,” he said, “but never quite managed to communicate clearly. Now that I know what she needs, I hope I’ll be a lot better at it.”

“Then good luck, tonight, son, but I doubt you’ll need it. I’m looking forward to meeting Marinette Agreste.”

Adrien fidgeted. “I was hoping your daughter could introduce you to Adrien Dupain-Cheng?”

“Be both,” Tom said, holding him tighter. “I’m as proud to be a Cheng as Sabine is to be a Dupain. A piece of paper can’t change who you are.”

 

* * *

 

“The airport has run into a complication,” Félix said to Bridgette, as he hung up the phone and pocketed it. “Apparently they need the next-of-kin paperwork in advance, and I’ve worked too hard to leave toxic last names behind to just let whatever idiot processes faxes at the airport take that work apart and notify the paparazzi.”

“My love, you’re being paranoid,” Bridgette said from her chair at the bedside. “No one in Paris is looking for you.”

“It’s not paranoia if we actually are in danger at every turn,” Félix grumbled, putting on his shoes and checking his pocket for his keys. As an afterthought, he also put on his jacket, and checked its breast pocket for sunglasses. “Promise me you’ll stay here until I get back?”

Bridgette turned to look at the woman sleeping in the bed beside her. “Unless an emergency-”

Félix stepped off the mat at the door, and Bridgette winced at the shoes on the indoor flooring. He embraced her, and withdrew slightly to stare at her intently. “You are the only one of the three people I am leaving here in any shape to make decisions, so the other two are counting on you. _Stay._ ”

“Okay,” Bridgette said, reluctantly. “I promise. Master Fu isn’t returning my calls, anyway.”

“He’s stopped trying to call me, too, and the victory party is tonight, and we’re in town; I think we’re in the clear. Here’s hoping he found another pair of kids, or possibly found a new city. Don’t go looking. We’re under no obligation to check in.” He kissed her deeply. “Take care of my mother, yourself, and our child. _Please_. Aside from René, you’re the only family that matters to me.”

 

* * *

 

“I wasn’t aware there was a color scheme,” Gabriel murmured to Adrien, as Marinette disappeared into her studio for a moment. “Should I have designed something for myself in purple?”

“Those are Nooroo’s colors. You _stole_ them. They’re not yours.”

“Well,” he said, trying not to smile, “if we were going to cosplay, [there was that one time at the convention when we all won an award](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045871)-”

“The only reason you’re going at all is so that I can keep an eye on you,” Adrien responded. “There’s a sick sort of irony to your going at all, and if you’re plotting something a trap, it’s exactly your flair for the dramatic to spring it tonight. I remember Heroes’ Day.”

“If we are still pretending this is a victory party for the heroes, and not for André,” Gabriel said, “the argument could be made that I should be the guest of honor. I am in far more danger of your exposing me to the media, or the law. You’re radiating anticipation, of what I cannot guess.”

Adrien met Gabriel’s eye, and sent him disappointment, pain, and steely resolve. “I wish I could trust you to not ruin tonight of all nights for me, but I can’t.”

“You’re finally going to unmask, I hope?”’ Gabriel ventured, but Adrien’s response was unreadable. “If you are, good luck, and signal to me if you wish for me to be supervised by someone else. She deserves your full attention when you do.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, done,” Marinette said, returning from the studio, then paused. “Where’s Emilie? Is she staying behind? This is the last night before election night, we’re out of time for the campaign.”

“She had committed to join us,” Gabriel said. “Perhaps she has lost track of the time.”

They moved together to the office, and Gabriel opened the door.

His shoulders tensed immediately, shifting from a proud, introverted, cold man to something far more angry and dangerous. Adrien shifted backwards slightly, putting himself between his father and Marinette and reaching for something at the small of his back, but not finding it. An unseasonably cold breeze passed over them, stronger than it should be from the indoors. He moved from the doorway, and Marinette, horrified, saw what had caused the change.

The floor-to-ceiling portrait of Emilie, done in the style of Klimt and clearly astoundingly expensive, was shredded as if by a giant animal, and knocked off of the place on the wall where it had been mounted.

A safe, evidently hidden behind the portrait, had been ripped from the wall, and smashed against the floor until the lock had failed. It was empty, and the impact had cracked the stone floor.

A gigantic panoramic window had exploded, shards of glass glittering across marble floor.

And Emilie Agreste, clad in one of Marinette’s flowing white ballgowns, had crumpled underneath it, carefully sculpted hair thrown forward as if she had been dragged by it. Something had slashed her abdomen, ripping open her pristine white gown and staining it crimson with blood.

“Mom!” Adrien said, rushing forward to join his father, who knelt beside his wife, and lifted her torso slightly to cradle her. He brushed off the glass tenderly, and checked for a pulse.

“Alive,” Gabriel said, “although whoever did this shortly will not be.”

“It’s Hawkmoth,” Marinette said, shifting her footwork as if to reach for her yo-yo. “I knew it had been too quiet. Emilie had been the loudest voice telling us to prepare, and now we’re out of time, he’s making his move.”

Gabriel fixed Marinette with an intense stare. “Before we begin,” he said softly, “There is something you should know. Frankly, I am shocked that Adrien has not told you yet, but this household cannot afford any more secrets.”

“Shut up,” Adrien rushed.

Gabriel frowned, and paused for a moment. Marinette was painfully aware of being an outsider to the Agreste family, because she had no idea why the two men were glaring at each other.

After a moment, Gabriel continued. “Our home is heavily fortified to protect against attack. Moreso than the average mansion, or than it would appear to an outsider. The security system is activated with your key card, and then code 1-3-9-7-1. Raise our shields, Marinette, we are vulnerable.”

“Let’s send The Gorilla,” Adrien countered. “He knows how to arm the house better than Marinette does.”

“I think,” Gabriel said softly, “this particular moment calls for discretion. Don’t you agree?”

A pause. Adrien broke eye contact with his father, to search Marinette’s face. She had too much adrenaline to be nervous.

“Go,” he said. “But call me the minute something goes wrong, and I’ll be there to back you up.”

“Call it the fashion designer’s instinct,” Gabriel added, “but perhaps a costume change is in order.”

An absolutely withering look from Adrien, and the pieces clicked into place for Marinette. _He knows. Adrien told him. Lucky Brand. The debt._

“Running in heels,” Gabriel clarified, too late to mitigate the damage. “You will get to the security system faster barefoot, or in the flats I assume are in your bag, than with a broken ankle.”

Marinette kicked off her shoes, and, stocking-footed, fled down marble halls.

_I don’t have Tikki. He believes in me because I was Ladybug, he’s been watching my ears waiting for me to be Ladybug again, but all the confidence the Agreste household has in Ladybug will do absolutely no good if Master Fu doesn’t want to be found. Ladybug isn’t available for this fight, just Marinette._

In the distance, something lethal-sounding let off a primal roar.

 

* * *

 

Adrien and Gabriel watched Marinette sprint away.

“In case it is relevant,” Gabriel said, cradling Emilie, “I am experiencing a strong emotion.”

“It isn’t,” Adrien told him, and didn’t bother to temper the absolutely withering disgust resonating between them. It was impossible to tell whose it was, originally, and irrelevant.

“I don’t know what else I can give you,” Gabriel seethed. “You have all the family I can offer. You have all the freedom you could desire. I have structured your access to the woman you love as much as I can as an outsider to that relationship, and given you new skills to make you sensitive to her needs in a way that you should need to be beyond incompetent to be unsuccessful courting her. Our personal history may complicate that process, so I have offered myself time and time again, to either turn myself in or allow you to capture me without a fight. Paris needs its heroes. _Why are you still here_?”

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re trying so hard to get me to transform.”

Gabriel sighed heavily. “If you’re not going to transform, give the Miraculous back to me temporarily while we are in a crisis.”

“And here it is,” Adrien spat. “I can’t believe you would stoop so low as to actually hurt _Mom_ of all people, but honestly, after the danger you’ve been putting me in for all these years, I really shouldn’t be surprised. _No._ Nooroo is finally safe; I am not letting you have him again!”

“Fine,” Gabriel snapped. “Do what you will _after_ the danger has passed, but it will not pass by itself. Transform, or let me be your pet supervillain and let _me_ transform, but your mother needs care, _now_ . It sounds like that thing is letting off no shortage of casualties. Akumatize someone to a medic, if you are afraid of sending out a champion, but your indecision is costing people lives. Do _something_! Or are you so paralyzed without your Ladybug that you cannot make a decision at all?”

“I’m not Akumatizing anyone,” Adrien insisted. “I’m not Hawkmoth. I'm not _you_.”

A shadow crossed Gabriel’s face. _Determination. Sacrifice. Do not make me take it by force._

He remembered, too late, that Adrien could Feel it, too. Adrien fell backwards, then scrambled away, eyes wide and color drained from his face.

“Adrien, stop, it was a bad habit, I would not have taken-” Gabriel tried to recover, but Adrien had already righted himself and sprinted away, clutching something beneath his tie. Heart breaking, Gabriel watched his son disappear around the corner, then looked down at his unconscious wife.

 

* * *

 

The Gorilla had fled the limousine, but left the door open, which was the only lucky thing to have happened to Adrien all day. He opened the door to the backseat, and then the tray that normally stored champagne and glasses.

Nooroo met his eyes.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“We’re not transforming,” Adrien told him, “but do you know how to find Master Fu? I need Plagg _right now_ , and Marinette is going to need Tikki for a Miraculous Cure at the very least.”

“You don’t have time,” Nooroo said, “Marinette needs backup. Are you ashamed of me?”

“No,” Adrien said, picking Nooroo up and hugging him. “You know that I’m not. But I won’t be Hawkmoth.”

“Then don’t be,” Nooroo said. “Be someone else.”

 

* * *

 

As Mayor Bourgeois advised the people of Paris over city-wide speakers to stay calm, and that Ladybug and Chat Noir would be there shortly to defeat this dangerous new monster and save the day, a new hero leapt into the sky. Instead of a tuxedo, he wore a violet cardigan over a lavender bodysuit; instead of a luchador mask, a black domino. Heather-gray gloves and boots protected hands and feet, and the bright blond hair contrasted dramatically with gigantic, royal purple wings.

“ _Wings_ ?” Gabriel said, in a voice that, in his head, still sounded like a monologue. He carried Emilie bridal-style, taking care to protect her abdomen, and they descended into the atrium. “What was the point of teaching him fencing if he wasn’t going to get a sword? How was I supposed to train him for _wings_?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a lot of politics and intrigue! Everybody ready for a fight?
> 
> I'm going to take a short hiatus while I write the entire battle sequence, so let's play murder mystery in the meantime! We have a missing Miraculous and Grimoire, and someone who knew where they were. Currently unaccounted for:  
> -Marinette (disappeared for a while as Gabriel and Adrien were talking)  
> -Gabriel (unsupervised as Adrien was at the Dupain-Cheng bakery)  
> -Lila "The Way To Succeed in Politics"  
> -Félix who claims to be on the way to the airport  
> -André, Emilie's political opponent / Chloé who was casually insulted for being a part time hero  
> -Unspecified others
> 
> Special thanks to [Tempomental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tempomental/pseuds/Tempomental), [Writer_Slk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer_slk/pseuds/writer_slk) and [MaybeHesClawstrophobic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybehesclawstrophobic/pseuds/maybehesclawstrophobic) for their work beta reading and providing feedback on this arc! I'm also going to start tagging the other Miraculous fan works that I'm referencing as I write them, rather than waiting until the end of the arc for a bibliography; if you see a hyperlink, please don't hesitate to click it, it probably points to an amazing other fan work that I highly recommend.


	11. Ungoliant, the First Monster - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two thousand meters overhead, an unnamed hero made three instantaneous decisions. The first was that he was out of time. The second was that he was brave. The third was that now was the time to prove it. He folded the iridescent purple wings against himself and surrendered to gravity, trusting the wings to work as a makeshift parachute and doing mental physics calculations about when to expand them to minimize the time it would take to get to Marinette while arriving alive.
> 
> _Time to figure out how much of a beating the new costume can take._

_Adrien clearly favors his mother,_ Lila thought smugly, as she prepared for the Ladybug and Chat Noir victory party. _Breathtaking, stupid, too noble for their own good. Mr. Agreste is a problem, but I know his secret, and you can’t buy silence, you can only rent it. He has very deep pockets, both with money and favors, but eventually even those will run out, and then this whole family is disposable. If Emilie wins this election cycle, I can milk the Agrestes dry for six years, and then defeat their hollow husks in the next one._

She missed Hawkmoth. It was nice being able to manipulate someone who thought they were manipulating you. She wasn’t certain that Gabriel Agreste had been Hawkmoth, but she had enough circumstantial evidence to ruin him anyway, and he knew that she did. Having him squarely at her mercy was almost pathetic. Butterflies with their wings ripped off weren’t any fun to torment. She would have to settle for the good people of Paris, manipulating Bee and Butterfly across her web with a touch so subtle, they wouldn’t even register it.

She did not notice the tiny spider on the back of her neck, nor the feather that caressed it.

 

* * *

 

Félix had forgotten how beautiful Paris was at night. The soft yellow light off stone buildings was fundamentally different from blue on glass and steel, giving it a more intimate feel. He wished that he could allow himself to relax and treat it like a vacation.

One apathetic clerk down, paperwork signed off on but not photocopied, and Félix was on his way back to his family at Le Grand Paris. He decided to take the scenic route, walking paths he had not seen in fifteen years. In the background, Agreste Mansion loomed significantly; he looked at it for a few minutes, before resolutely passing it by.

 _This is nice_ , he thought, smiling slightly as he made his way home. _Maybe I actually have the chance to just be a normal man with a normal-_

Overhead, what appeared to be a gigantic mechanical spider leaped from one rooftop to the next, its spindly legs punching holes in the vintage stone. One punched through a window, shattering it; when it emerged for the next leap, it was covered in blood. From that window, the sounds of screaming and crying, but the spider, or whatever was controlling it, paid the occupants no mind; it roared as it leaped towards Le Grand Paris, where the Ladybug and Chat Noir victory party would just be starting up. His family was in one of those rooms.

The self-serving thing to do would be to turn and run the opposite direction, but Bridgette would not be able to move his mother by herself, let alone move quickly enough to avoid being seen.

_If you go looking for Master Fu, you don’t get to take off the ring until the adventure is complete._

_If you don’t, you have to stay a civilian. People are in danger. Do you want to trust this fight to a rookie?_

Félix swore and broke into a run, checking for his sunglasses.

 

* * *

 

_If it’s too good or too bad to be true, check for an Akuma._

Emilie Agreste had been right to warn them. Hawkmoth was back, but had made a mistake this time. Akumas were absurdly powerful, and oftentimes outright ignored physics in favor of magical shenanigans, but they were _ridiculous looking_ . This gigantic machine, on its tall, spindly legs, spewing a massive plume of black smoke into the air, was not ridiculous-looking, it was terrifying. That was a clue. _Volpina_. Clearly, Lila had been watching far too much Guillermo Del Toro. Hawkmoth wanted people afraid, which meant he was probably going to try to transform into Scarlet Moth, which meant that Master Fu needed every hero he could summon- but wouldn’t pick up his phone for Marinette.

Well, if he needed proof that Marinette was still a hero, dispelling Volpina’s illusion was as good a start as any. Thankfully, she didn’t need a Lucky Charm to do that. She just needed a rock.

As soon as she was in range, Marinette picked one up, and threw it at a spindly, razor-sharp leg. “Hey, ugly!”

It connected with a solid, metallic twang.

 _Not an illusion_ , Marinette thought faintly _._

A head with far too many eyes swiveled to look at her, and hundreds of thousands of tiny gears whirred in a way that mimicked spider chattering. Too many legs punched through the building it had been climbing, turning to advance on her and not caring whether its legs punched through brick, stone, or glass. Someone in one of the buildings screamed, and, with dawning horror, Marinette saw what she had thought had been the sheen of oil on its legs was, in fact, blood.

 _LET ME HELP_ , said a voice in her mind, foreign yet familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place.

She looked down at her purse, where a glowing lavender butterfly hovered but did not connect.

She turned and ran.

She didn’t need to see them to know that both the butterfly and the spider chased her.

 

* * *

 

“We’re out of time,” Master Fu said, watching the lethal-looking mech punch through walls and street. “Wayzz, I know Tikki and Plagg need to rest, but someone has to stop that thing.”

“They are not ready,” Wayzz said, as Master Fu pressed a secret combination of buttons on the gramophone to expose the Miracle Box.

“We can’t wait any longer,” Master Fu insisted. “They have to be. Go check on them.”

Wayzz zipped into the Miracle Box without another word.

Every Kwami inside hovered, paw in paw, voices joined in song. In the middle of their circle, Tikki and Plagg lay, cuddling with each other, eyes closed.

“How are they?” Wayzz asked Pollen, who shook his head but did not stop singing.

“Thank you,” he said, and came back into the world.

“Well?” Master Fu asked, worried.

Wayzz shook his head, eyes wide. “They’re in no shape to transform anyone. We need to protect them, and they need to stay in the Miracle Box. Who can fight it, if not Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

Master Fu thought for a moment, then chose.

 

* * *

 

 _PARIS NEEDS LADYBUG_ , the butterfly insisted, tracing her as she ran.

“You really should have thought about that, shouldn’t you?” Marinette shouted. There wasn’t any point shouting a conversation that was half taking place inside her own mind, but it made her feel better, and with the terror she was feeling as she was hunted down by the giant robotic death spider, she needed all the warm fuzzies she could get. “I don’t know why Mayura decided to go on a rampage, or what happened a month ago, but Ladybug’s not here right now, and that’s your own fault!”

_I COULD MAKE YOU LADYBUG._

“You’re thinking of Chloé Bourgeois, Antibug,” Marinette insisted, rounding a corner, gigantic spider-bot and tiny butterfly giving chase. “You’ve never gotten me, and I’m keeping it that way.”

The spider-bot howled, gaining on them.

_MARINETTE, PLEASE, WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS._

“Ladybug and Mister Bug might not be available for this fight, but I’m friends with Chat Noir, and the minute he gets here you’re going to regret dragging me into this. I’ve never seen him Cataclysm a butterfly before, but I’m looking forward to it.”

The butterfly sent her pride, and a wave of affection.

 _HE WANTS YOU TO TAKE THE BUTTERFLY,_ it said, with a wave of certainty that made her nauseous. Prisoner, or evil? And why had she been so fixated on Adrien that she did nothing to track down her partner?

“Where is he?” she demanded, her sprinting beginning to wind her. She wasn’t used to running long distances untransformed, and was out of shape. Butterfly and spider continued to gain on her.

_HE WAS GOING TO UNMASK FOR YOU AT THE PARTY, AND STILL CAN, IF YOU’RE ALIVE TO MEET HIM, PLEASE MARINETTE, TAKE THE BUTTERFLY!_

She turned a corner, into a dead end. She was used to taking this path transformed, and clearly saw the fire escapes and fixtures she could have used to yo-yo to safety; but they did no good for her now.

Marinette looked up at the spider, which was rearing its front legs in preparation to stab her, and had a visceral flashback to Mrs. Agreste, the pool of her own blood staining her white dress red.

 

* * *

 

Two thousand meters overhead, an unnamed hero made three instantaneous decisions. The first was that he was out of time. The second was that he was brave. The third was that now was the time to prove it. He folded the iridescent purple wings against himself and surrendered to gravity, trusting the wings to work as a makeshift parachute and doing mental physics calculations about when to expand them to minimize the time it would take to get to Marinette while arriving alive.

_Time to figure out how much of a beating the new costume can take._

 

* * *

 

“Okay, Hawkmoth,” she said, letting the chill fall away as the spider-bot howled. The terror felt distant, almost secondhand. “You’ve always loved a good monologue. Since I’m about to die, there’s something I want to know. Once you send someone a butterfly, they can’t run, and they can’t hide. What’s holding you back? Why don’t you just Akumatize me without my agreeing?”

_NEVER. MARINETTE, IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TAKE THE BUTTERFLY, AT LEAST DODGE!_

The spider-bot slashed its leg down, stabbing straight for her heart.

A flash of red grabbed her and dragged her out of the way, and an arm wearing black snatched the butterfly out of the sky. The leg punched into the concrete where she had been, hard enough to leave a crater.

 

* * *

 

The butterfly hero extended his wings, breaking his fall and giving himself whiplash. The sudden punch of air resistance hit him hard enough to wind him, and he glided to a nearby rooftop, out of sight, to recover. He shook, unable to separate his own fear from Marinette’s.

 

* * *

 

There was black rage in Gabriel Agreste’s heart as he gently lay Emilie back into her sarcophagus, and entirely mundane, soul-deep terror at the deja vu. His hands shook as he activated apparatuses to stabilize her until it was safe to call emergency services, then gently expanded the tear in her dress to inspect her wound. It appeared clean; one slash, no visible contamination but far too much blood. The rage and terror were joined by sorrow as he kissed her forehead, and fear as he pulled away. Any one of these would have been strong enough to call a butterfly, as was the regret that he felt that they were going to waste. He knew that the Butterfly Miraculous meant that Adrien could feel it, too, and that they were resonating with Adrien’s emotions, as well.

Gabriel could have been an avenging angel. He could have been an angel of mercy. He could have done something, anything.

_This is my fault. I gave him no reason to trust me; of course he didn’t, when I needed him to. Adrien could have saved her, if I had done a better job rebuilding that rapport. I could have saved her, if I had taken the Brooch. Instead, I did neither, and am helpless._

He picked up his wife’s hand, and kissed her knuckles reverently. “It will be less than six years, this time, light of my life, I promise you,” he murmured. “I did not give up six years of my life, to buy you a month; it will not take me six more, to revive you permanently this time. I will fix this; I promise.”

Above them, the giant floodlight in the insignia of a moth drained the color from Gabriel’s skin and gave Emilie an almost imperceptible halo.

 

* * *

 

“That wasn’t the plan!” Marc shouted to Nathanael, as they dragged Marinette deeper into the apartment building, hand in hand in hand. Behind them, the emergency exit slammed shut. Marinette only just now registered the sound of an alarm going off from when they had opened it to save her. “We save Marinette, and we all go somewhere far away from the death machine stabbing people through windows on its rampage! That was the plan! There was no Akuma in this plan!”

“You can’t outrun a butterfly,” Nathanael shouted back, as a fluorescent purple mask began to glow over his eyes. “And you can’t hide, but you can take it for someone else. I’m the only one who has ever been able to keep their head while Akumatized, at least mostly. A Miraculous Cure will fix it, but people are getting seriously hurt in the meantime, maybe dying. I have to do this. I’m so sorry.”

“No, Nathanael!” Marinette cried. “Fight it! You don’t know what Hawkmoth is planning!”

“What is he always planning?” Nathanael asked, not slowing as the three of them ran. “He wants the Miraculouses. And to get them, we’re going to have to find Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Nathanael dropped Marinette’s hand, preparing to strike a bargain. Marc picked Nathanael’s hand back up again, trying to drag him deeper into the building, but he would not budge. “Okay, Hawkmoth,” Nathanael said, “let’s do this. I want to melt this thing down into sludge. You want the Miraculouses. It’s my turn first.”

Marc sobbed. “It’s not safe, please, Nath, fight it.”

Nathanael couldn’t hear them, but had paused, shocked. “...What do you mean, Ladybug and Chat Noir aren’t available? We need them, and they’ve never let us down before. How am I supposed to do this by myself?”

“You’re not,” Marc said, still trying to pull Nathanael to safety. “We’re here, don’t leave us.”

“Okay,” Nathanael said across his psychic link, “I won’t go after the Miraculouses, just focus on fighting the monster. But that means I get to pick something else.” He looked at Marc with eyes that burned purple. “I want to protect these two.”

He heard something else that Marc and Marinette did not, then nodded as familiar purple bubbles covered him. The fluorescent purple mask turned black, his blazer turned into a black and white striped shirt with a color palette on the chest, and a black beret materialized on his head. He reached into his messenger bag, to retrieve a distinctly more magical tablet and pen.

A spindly spider leg stopped trying to scratch its way through the door, and just stabbed it. A fish hook extended from it, and the spider-bot ripped its leg backwards, tearing the door off its hinges.

“Just one thing first, Butterfly,” Mightillustrator said, and stepped toward Marc. Marinette tried to step between them, but he nudged her gently aside, and wrapped an arm around Marc, who froze, and stared at him, eyes too wide.

“I’m never going to have the courage to say it, untransformed,” Mightillustrator breathed to him, as if the rest of the world had fallen away, and it was just him and Marc. “I love you. I have since the first comic. You have the most beautiful mind. May I have a kiss for luck?”

Marc nodded, shaking, and Mightillustrator dipped him low, in a kiss so passionate Marinette had to turn away, shocked.

The spider-bot was flattening itself, gradually working its way through the door.

Mightillustrator righted them back again. “Marinette and Marc stay safe, butterfly. You promised.”

He took out his pen, and whipped a vault door between himself and Marinette and Marc.

“No!” Marinette shouted, enough to break Marc out of his trance.

“Nath, why did you do that?” Marc cried, pounding on the vault door. “You’ve read the comics! The kiss before the battle? That was your death warrant!”

Metallic spider legs scratched against the vault door, and then the spider-bot howled, as if in pain.

“We need to go, right now!” Marinette shouted, dragging a sobbing Marc away.

Far overhead, a stunned hero touched his lips. _That was incredibly hot_.


	12. Ungoliant, the First Monster - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please stay calm!” came the voice of Mayor Bourgeois over the speakers. “Ladybug and Chat Noir are on their way. We just have to believe in them. They have never let us down before.”

 

Marc had flipped the hood of his hoodie up and was folding in on himself, clearly on the verge of a panic attack, so Marinette hugged him.

“Nathanael will be fine,” she said, holding him protectively.

“You heard him,” Marc said, trying to calm down but not succeeding. “Ladybug and Chat Noir aren’t coming. It’s just him and the Sentibeast. If the Sentibeast takes out his light, he’s helpless, and if it breaks his pen, he’s going to detransform. We’ll have a lot more Mightillustrators, but that won’t save _mine_. We saw it skewer the art teacher through the shoulder, and not even care. It was pure luck it wasn’t his heart. Mightillustrator doesn’t have armor, and I saw the Sentibeast punch through brick and concrete. This is too much to ask of him. We need Ladybug.”

Marinette had an Idea.

“Hawkmoth said Chat Noir is at the victory party. Chloé is too, and so Queen Bee is possible. Alya said the Ladyblog got a tip that Rena Rouge and Carapace were going to try to make an appearance. We need to get them to the Sentibeast, or the Sentibeast to them. Stay here, stay safe, and call Chloé. Call Alya, if Chloé isn’t picking up, tell her to put out a cry for help on the Ladyblog. Here, let me write down their numbers for you. I have to make another call, myself, and I’m so sorry but I can’t let anyone overhear it.”

Marc blushed, and Marinette was confused.

“I think Chat Noir would be happy for you,” he muttered, turning a brighter red as he spoke. “That you wound up with Adrien. I like to think he got together with Ladybug, too. He said he wanted to spend time with his family, and Ladybug has always been family to him.”

_Oh, for the love of-_

“Stay safe,” she repeated, letting Marc be mistaken. “I have to go, but Mightillustrator wants you to stay safe.”

“Okay,” Marc said, taking out his phone, and Marinette ran.

“Everyone please stay calm,” came the voice of Mayor Bourgeois over the speakers that had been installed throughout the city. 

 

* * *

 

“Daddy, I love you and I know that Ladybug and Chat Noir’s victory is the cornerstone of your re-election campaign, but you need to either shut up or tell everyone to get to safety, right now. Your campaign speeches are getting a lot of people very hurt. Yes, I know Miraculous Cure is going to fix it, but getting stabbed _hurts_ , and it’s one thing to see someone you care about erased from time or turned into coal or glitter, it’s another thing entirely to see them get stabbed and try to stop the bleeding. Having to watch people get hurt is going to make it harder for Ladybug and Chat Noir to focus, that’s probably why they aren’t fighting the monster yet, they’re probably trying to save the people who have already gotten attacked, if Chat Noir hasn’t already gotten stabbed trying to save Ladybug. We need to clear the area and let them do their jobs. Let Nadja Chamack in her helicopter do the reporting, it’s not like every single person in this city doesn’t have access to a smartphone with streaming technology to watch anyway, this election is yours to lose but you will absolutely lose it if you keep this up, do you understand how many people in this ballroom are starting to mutter that Emilie Agreste is right and Hawkmoth is back and more dangerous than ever-”

Chloé felt a hand on her shoulder, and pivoted, shifting to a ready stance and praying Ladybug was there to offer her a runed box. Unfortunately, it was Alya, looking like the only person in the room who was appropriately worried for the situation they faced. A half-step behind her, Nino was speaking very urgently into Alya’s phone.

“Shove it, Césaire,” she said, shrugging Alya off. “I’m a little busy.”

“This can’t wait,” Alya said. “Call your dad back.”

“Hang on, daddy, I’ll be right back,” Chloé said into her phone, and then took it away from her ear for a moment so that he couldn’t hear the women speak. Chloé sighed. “Listen. I love my daddy, but he’s a moron, and has no idea what it’s actually like to get in the thick of one of these fights. Every minute he’s talking to me is another minute he’s not rambling on cluelessly telling people to go out to their balconies and watch for Ladybug to swing in and save us like this is some sort of elaborate fanfare for their arrival to the party. Changing his mind is way more urgent than giving the Ladyblog its exclusive, Nadja Chamack is already getting the live footage and you can interview me once the fight is done.”

“Chloé,” Alya said, quietly enough that Chloé was confident not even Nino could overhear them, “Ladybug has worked out a system with me, to send an anonymous tip to the Ladyblog if she needs to contact me when she’s not transformed, but it’s not just because I run the Ladyblog. I’m Rena Rouge, and Nino is Carapace. Now, Marc called me, because your phone has been busy, and says that Nathanael is now Mightillustrator, and is asking for backup. I don’t have your Miraculous, but you’re the only one who can tell Ladybug where we are. Can you help us?”

_Alya Césaire, Rena Rouge? That’s insane. Isn’t it?_

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Chloé asked, searching Alya’s face.

“You don’t,” Alya said, “I’ve been trying to think of a way that I could prove it, and there’s nothing. But there is something only you can do, and you can do it while trying to talk some sense into your dad. It’s like Mrs. Agreste said- if there’s something, anything at all you can do to help the heroes that are actually fighting- shouldn’t you?”

 

* * *

 

The Sentibeast ignored Mightillustrator in favor of scrambling at the vault door, and it was only a matter of time before it figured out how to use the wheel to open it, so Mightillustrator solved the immediate problem and erased the wheel. The machine shrieked its rage, and then started trying to punch holes in the seam between the vault and the hallway. Following the obvious logic, Mightillustrator tried to erase one of the Sentibeast’s legs, but that did nothing. Unfortunately, this fight would not be that simple.

Mightillustrator ducked between the back legs, then started running back out the hall they had left. Too slow, he decided, so he drew himself a motorcycle and mounted it. He didn’t know how to ride a motorcycle, so he drew the gears as if they were a car, and hoped it would be good enough. He checked the hallway- a reasonably straight shot- and then drew himself a simple slingshot, then fired it at the Sentibeast.

Its head swiveled around, and knees popped in the opposite direction, almost instantaneously. Agile, then. But who was faster?

Mightillustrator revved the motorcycle, and sped away down the hall, hoping with all his heart that the Butterfly would hold up his end of the bargain, and that Marinette and Marc were on their way to safety. He had to get the Sentibeast somewhere flat, that it couldn’t use height to its advantage.

He could hear its mechanical shriek over the roar of his motorcycle, and the impact as it punched through walls, floor, and ceiling, giving chase. He rounded the corner to the street, then took a moment to discard the slingshot and try to draw himself a machine gun, being careful to stay close enough to the Sentibeast to be its most compelling prey as it fit itself through the tight corner. He forced himself to tune out the broken windows, and the screams of the injured people behind them, as much as possible. Once the gun was complete, he tried firing it, but the bullets did nothing, so he erased the gun. Couldn’t have that lying around. Maybe a crossbow? Something more armor piercing? He wished Ladybug was here to tell him what to call as a Lucky Charm; the butterfly had said she wouldn’t be joining him, and that terrified them both. Mightillustrator could draw anything, given time and light, but what was the _right_ thing?

The first leg punched through the door, missing Mightillustrator by millimeters and flattening one of the tires on the motorcycle. He drew a shield, curved slightly and at an angle to encourage the legs to slide upwards and over rather than drive him back, and got to work making another vehicle for himself.

A cloud passed overhead, threatening a storm, and his tablet flickered. How was he having this problem with the City of Lights? He drew a small light, then attached it to his tablet, but he was going to need something powerful or risk having his powers fail when he needed them most.

Atop Le Grand Paris, Chloé Bourgeois activated the Bee Signal.

 

* * *

 

“Everyone, please relax! Ladybug and Chat Noir are on their way to save the day! Please have some hors d’ouvres, observe the fight, and enjoy the party.”

 

* * *

 

“Are Ladybug and Chat Noir somewhere that we can call for help?” Mightillustrator asked across his psychic link. The rain had started in earnest now, soaking Mightillustrator’s hair and clothes but thankfully not compromising the tablet. “I’ve never known either of them to let us down from a fight before.”

CHAT NOIR ISN’T COMING. WE’RE BUYING LADYBUG TIME. I HAVEN’T HEARD ANYTHING FOR SURE, BUT I BELIEVE IN HER. SHE WON’T LET US DOWN.

“You’re definitely not the usual Hawkmoth,” Mightillustrator said, grinning as he feathered the edges of the concrete the Sentibeast ran along, and, sure enough, it started to sink into them. It was still fast, but he had gained a little time to try to draw an armor-piercing ballista turret. “Do I smell a crush?”

Across the psychic link, awkward laughter. GUILTY AS CHARGED. DO YOU THINK SHE COULD GO FOR A GUY LIKE ME?

The Sentibeast came within range of the turret, so Mightillustrator slashed a break through the string keeping it drawn taut, firing the bolt. It pierced the Sentibeast, which howled, but continued advancing.

“I think that Chat Noir has been trying for four years,” Mightillustrator said, reloading the turret. Maybe aiming somewhere else on the Sentibeast would make a difference. “He’s her partner. I’m sorry, Butterfly, I wouldn’t rule it out completely, but basically everyone in Paris has had a crush on Ladybug at some point, and somehow, I don’t think she’d go for whoever has the Butterfly Miraculous.”

I SUPPOSE NOT.

The Sentibeast wrapped around the turret, and Mightillustrator erased the string again, launching the bolt into its core. It shrieked again, but crunched its legs through the mechanism of the turret, crushing it. Mightillustrator lured it ever closer to Le Grand Paris, where The Bee Signal lit the clouds overhead like a beacon of Paris’s very last hope. If the turret bolts could pierce the Sentibeast’s armor, maybe Queen Bee could, too?

Far overhead, violet wings blending in to the dark sky but soaked by the rain and buffeted by the wind, a hero watched a woman in a drenched red cocktail dress search for the Guardian of the Miracle Box. He Felt her horror at the shattered buildings around her, and her guilt at the occupants’ cries for Ladybug to come save them.

_We’re out of time, Master Fu. We need Ladybug._

 

* * *

 

“Have faith in our heroes,” Mayor Bourgeois told his city. “A Miraculous Cure can fix all of this.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re safer together,” Nino fussed, as he presented their tickets to the coat check attendant, whose gaze was fixated on the TV broadcasting the fight. He cheered  when the bear trap Mightillustrator had drawn for the Sentibeast sprung, and then cheered again when it shrugged it off, throwing it at Mightillustrator and forcing him to duck. “Or all of us waiting up on the roof with Chloé.”

“There is only one thing that could have kept Ladybug and Chat Noir from showing up by now, and that’s if they weren’t able to at all,” Alya said, “and the guess Chloé made about Chat taking a hit for Ladybug seems just a little too in character for my peace of mind. If they’re coming to us, they know how to find Chloé. If they need saving, I have to go to them, and maybe if I retrace the Sentibeast’s steps, I can find whatever took the feather in the first place and destroy it. You need to stay here and kill Mayor Bourgeois’s speaker system.”

“You stay, then,” Nino suggested, “your mom works in the restaurant, you know the service corridors way better than I do and can find the electrical room.”

“But I have no idea how to hack it,” Alya said, shrugging on her coat. “We need to not only shut him up, but also give everyone better instructions. I love you. I believe in you. I promise I’ll stay safe. Protect as many people as you can, in the meantime.”

Onscreen, Mightillustrator erased a wall that the Sentibeast had perched  on, and it fell, shrieking. It stabbed a leg at him, and he dodged, but it hit one of the street lights, and he ducked and ran to the next one, sketching another motorcycle. He was looking increasingly worried about the light sources the Sentibeast was systematically destroying, and the rain that was clouding any moonlight. Alya had recorded enough battles, and Rena Rouge had participated in enough, to tell that if Mightillustrator didn’t get to a powerful light, soon, and come up with a strategy in the meantime, he was probably going to lose.

“Stay safe,” Nino said, embracing her. “I hope Ladybug can fix you if you get hurt, but don’t get hurt in the first place.”

“I’ll watch out for myself,” Alya said, embracing him right back. “You watch out for everyone else.”

She withdrew, and a smile teased at the edge of Nino’s lips. “Looks like you’re going to get to report on that final fight, after all.”

“If the rain doesn’t drown my phone, I’ll be back for an exclusive,” she said, and the doors of Le Grand Paris opened for her, sending a cascade of rain into the foyer and drenching both of them.

 

* * *

 

“Ladybug and Chat Noir are just waiting for the right moment,” Mayor Bourgeois promised over the speakers. “Lucky Charms rely on timing.”

 

* * *

 

The night was getting much too dark and stormy for Mightillustrator’s tastes, as he led the Sentibeast to Le Grand Paris, brainstorming desperately for something that would break its armor. Sooner or later, the light was going to run out. Being the bait was fine, for now, but sooner or later, he was going to have to spring a trap. His brain cycled through hundreds of Lucky Charms, real and comic-book, over the course of his school years, failing to find Step 2 between Collecting Underpants and Profit. Marc would know. Ladybug would know. He was starting to suspect Ladybug’s real superpower wasn’t making the Lucky Charms, but knowing how to use them.

“How the heck do I kill this thing, Butterfly?” he called across the psychic link.

He sent him terror, but a little mirth. EVEN YOUR SKETCHY PLANS ARE BETTER THAN MINE. I’M DRAWING A BLANK.

Mightillustrator laughed and the Butterfly laughed with him. “Being my Chat Noir isn’t going to help me be your Ladybug,” he said, a little more quietly.

PROBABLY NOT, it said, BUT WE FEEL BETTER, RIGHT?

“Not really,” Mightillustrator said, and left working out whether he was lying for later. “How are Marc and Marinette?”

SEPARATED. MARC IS SEVERAL BLOCKS IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION FROM WHERE YOU’RE TAKING THE SENTIBEAST, ON THE PHONE. MARINETTE IS OUT IN THE STORM, LOOKING FOR HELP. I’M PROTECTING THEM.

_Safe, for now._

The Sentibeast paused in its attempt to shear down the cage Mightillustrator had been drawing around it, and let out a mechanical wail that made Mightillustrator drop to his knees, clutching his head. Starting with the windows closest to the Sentibeast, and radiating outward, glass started to explode, sending shards in both directions and killing light after light. The Akumatized tablet was unaffected, but Mightillustrator was reduced to working under the light of a shaking night light, as the Sentibeast began sawing away at the bars of the cage he had drawn.

ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?

“Eyes on Marc and Marinette,” Mightillustrator insisted, trying to draw himself a sun by the light of his night light, and struggling. The rain in his hair had started to fall into his eyes, so he shook his head, which did nothing to clear it up.

The Sentibeast turned sideways, and began to flatten itself to slide between two of the destroyed bars. Mightillustrator gave up on the sun he was drawing, to try to reinforce the bars, but too slow, too late.

A spotlight tracked its way down to Mightillustrator, reflecting off his screen and making the shards of glass from the Sentibeast’s scream glitter in the rain. He had a moment of profound relief- he could work with this.

But then the beast turned, as if in thought, to Le Grand Paris, where thousands of party-goers waited under awnings, watching the fight. They cheered when Mightillustrator brought the Sentibeast into view, clapping and shouting and looking horrifyingly undefended.

It paused.

It reared up on its backmost legs, and shrieked, changing course to head for the hotel.

Mightillustrator swore, and began drawing barriers between the beast and its new prey, the whip of his pen across his tablet taking enough of his focus that the trompo’s slam against the exploded streetlight above him made him jump, convinced Mayura was here to kill him personally.

“Nice job, Akuma,” Queen Bee drawled, standing regally to survey the sentimonster up close. “You showed the homicidal robot how to kill the most people with the least effort. Clearly, you’re not going to be able to stop it without me, but I’m here now. Are you going to draw me a blow dryer, or are we going to do this on foot, and looking like we crawled out of the Seine?”

 _Did it have to be Chloé?_ Mightillustator thought, but in his head, the Butterfly let out a whoop of joy, and it made Mightillustrator smile, too.

 

* * *

 

“Nothing has happened tonight that a Miraculous Cure cannot fix, and Ladybug and Chat Noir are on their way.”

 

* * *

 

The rain pelted down around Chloé, as she tracked the Bee Signal down from the clouds to point it at the artist fighting to keep the Sentibeast from advancing on the hotel. Beacon for help turned into spotlight, shining not on the hero that the city needed, but the one that it was getting. She used the time to regard the mysterious old man standing behind her. Over her shoulder, Pollen hovered nervously.

“Does this mean Ladybug and Chat Noir lost?” she asked, quietly, when she was ready. “They’re heroes. They would have found a way to save us, if they could.”

“For the safety of the world, I cannot discuss the particulars,” the old man said somberly. “But the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses are safe. Hawkmoth does not have them. Unfortunately, the heroes do not, either, and so they cannot use them, tonight. They must not be given emergency Miraculouses until my agents have determined what happened. As you can see, something is in motion, and Paris is in far more danger than it has been for the past few years.”

“We must defend the Hive, my Queen,” Pollen said, “both city, and world. But we must take care to be safe, without a Miraculous Cure to restore us. Any Sting fatal on your part, would remain so.”

The artist below jumped backwards from a stabbing leg, and Chloé moved the spotlight, making sure he could still work. He glanced up at her, and waved his thanks, but caught the next stabbing leg in time and dodged again.

“Who do I give Pollen back to, if not Ladybug?” Chloé asked. “I don’t know how to find you, if you don’t transform, and if you do, you’re probably going to be more of a liability than an ally. I’m sorry, I’m trying to be less of a jerk, but it’s just true and I don’t know how to say it nicely.”

The old man smiled. “Give him back to Ladybug. Keep him, in the meantime.”

Chloé touched the comb gently, and it shone bright even against the angry clouds. She looked to Pollen. “Do you have any secret powers like Miraculous Cure, that I don’t know about?” she asked. “There’s a lot of people getting very hurt out there. Maybe a honeycomb, or something?”

“No,” Pollen said. “I am not as strong as the Ladybug.”

Chloé turned back to the old man. “Then why me? Is it just because I’m the only one you know how to find?”

The old man looked over the side of the building, where the artist was trying to construct defense after defense, each one being torn through by the relentless Sentibeast. He had led the monster to the spotlight, but now that the monster could see people milling about, it had lost interest in the hero that had been annoying at him in favor of the loud, brightly colored crowd.

“The artist is delaying the machine,” the old man said, “but is not excelling at strategy. This is normal; he has to stay busy enough creating new things that he is not taking the time to think. He is slowing the spider bot down. We need someone that can _stop_ it. Five minutes would probably be enough, and you are probably enough of a veteran to stretch it for longer. This fight needs Queen Bee, and you always have been.”

_I always will be._

“Keep the spotlight on the artist,” she told the old man. “His name was Evillustrator, but he’s an idiot that has been fantasizing about being a superhero since Paris started having them.”

The irony struck Chloé like her own stinger. _Just like me._

“Mightillustrator,” she said. “Ever since he dropped the stupid Super Nathanael moniker, he’s been Mightillustrator.”

The old man looked at Chloé, with a significance she could not quite read. “That’s a hero’s name,” he remarked softly. “Would you recognize him as one?”

Chloé thought about it, losing far more time than the people below had to spare.

“How about I have an answer for you, as soon as I know whether he decides to go for my Miraculous?”

 

* * *

 

There had been many times that Chat Noir had thought Hawkmoth was stupid, or just a very bad manager, for the mistakes that he made or allowed his Akumas to make.

There had many times, since realizing the staggering degree of empathy the Butterfly Miraculous granted to its wielder, that Adrien Agreste had suspected his father of being cruel, completely without heart, for being privy to the full scope of the emotions being felt by every Parisian, and choosing to laser-focus one one person’s particularly bad day. Surely, if he had Felt the gravity of the quiet misery that had been Adrien’s day to day life, he would have mitigated it somehow?

But, lost among the fire escapes and awnings, trying to provide tactical support to Mightillustrator while also keeping tabs on Marinette, and feeling the raw strong emotions of thousands of people, the new butterfly hero was getting overwhelmed. He had never had a panic attack before, but he suspected that this is what it would feel like- too many strong emotions, too loudly, all of them overlapping and resonating. He shoved it out of his mind, because he still wasn’t sure how to stop the Butterfly Miraculous from transmitting it and Mightillustrator absolutely could not afford to break his focus right now.

Queen Bee had landed on the Sentibeast’s abdomen and was attempting to punch it with her trompo, throwing sparks, and dodging the razor-sharp legs that inverted their kneecaps to attempt to stab her, but distracting it while Mightillustrator worked furiously on his tablet. The Sentibeast gave up attempting to stab Queen Bee, and abruptly rolled, trying to squish her and Mightillustrator alike, but with a final flourish, the tank he was working on thudded into place, narrowly avoiding pinning Queen Bee between them. She shouted something at him, and he responded back something he probably would have censored if he had remembered he had an audience. She pointed at the windows, and the butterfly hero felt Mightillustrator’s horror. He did not get into the tank.

Three blocks over, Marinette heard the shouting, and hesitated in her frantic search for Master Fu or Marianne. The butterfly felt her recognition, hope, and sadness when she recognized Queen Bee, and determination as she tracked the route of the Bee Signal to the top of Le Grand Paris.

He breathed, attempting to focus less on Marinette, and find the one person in over 2 million that had the Miracle Box. She might not trust his butterfly, for very good reason, but maybe he could lure her to the Guardian?

 _Ladybug!_ came a jolt of recognition, from a mind that was neither Mightillustrator’s nor Queen Bee’s. It must have been shouted, though, because both heroes turned to acknowledge the new arrival, but so did the spider.

There were no barriers between the Sentibeast and a drowned-looking, terrified, hopeful Alya Césaire.

It moved fast.

He moved faster.

Royal wings dove from the five-story roof, as he knocked her out of the path of the deadly claws, one of which caught at the edge of his wing and tore it. It hurt, but no more so than breaking a nail below the quick; that was useful information. Alya hurt him more, as he wrapped his arms under her armpits and kicked off the concrete, flying straight up, where the sentibeast was at a disadvantage.

 _Nice save, Butterfly!_ shouted Mightillustrator, across their psychic link.

 _Oh, how typical, Hawkmoth Two is playing Chat Noir now,_ felt Queen Bee. _This enemy of my enemy is my friend bit was old when it started._

“Let me go,” Alya said, kicking the air under them and trying to wriggle out of his hold. Below, a blond man in a black suit wrapped one arm around Marinette’s waist, and put his other hand over her mouth, pulling her into a corner. “I have been way too active in the Miraculous activity happening in Paris since 2017 to get taken prisoner by Hawkmoth Junior.”

 _So much for invisible,_ he thought, without privacy.

 _What’s your name, Butterfly?_ Mightillustrator asked back.

He sighed. “I don’t suppose I’d be able to persuade you to call me Tuxedo Mask?”

Alya elbowed him hard in the ribs, and he dropped a few meters. “Bold of anyone from the Dark Kingdom to try that.”

 _She’s right,_ Mightillustrator told him. _Try again._

“Didn’t think so,” he sighed, scanning the alley where he had last seen Marinette, but she was gone.

 

* * *

 

Marinette didn’t need to see the face of the blond man in the black suit who was holding her so tightly that she struggled to breathe, holding her as if he loved her. She held him back, and he kissed the top of her head, and began to rub circles in her back.

But then he spoke, and his voice was wrong.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he murmured. “You said you would stay home and babysit. You know what, don’t even explain. Just tell me that you didn’t choose today as your first ever time to listen to me, and you went shopping the way you wanted to. I’ll take both, you get home and take care of our houseguest.”

Marinette tensed. “I missed you, too, but I don’t know what you mean about babysitting or shopping, and I haven’t seen you since the top of the Arc di Triomphe.”

The man froze. “What do you mean? We’ve never been to the top of the Arc di Triomphe.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette said, feeling profoundly awkward. This wasn’t Chat Noir. “I think you might have me confused with someone else.”

“I think I do, and I have to apologize,” he said, “you’re clearly not my wife. You do seem very familiar, though, and I have to ask. May I see your face?”

Not Chat Noir, then, she thought, but she wasn’t in the clear yet.

“No,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, and rummaged in his pockets. “I have a pair of opaque sunglasses. They will compromise your vision slightly, but it turns out that the only disguise you really need is to cover your forehead and cheekbones. It’ll blur the line between the two yous, and people will see the one they expect to see. My wife and I have used them, in a pinch; they’re effective.”

“What about you?” Marinette asked, as she extracted herself from the stranger and put on the sunglasses. “Are you comfortable with my seeing your face?”

The man laughed, but she heard the awkwardness in it as much as the joke. “You’ll forget it immediately. I’m not your cat, Ladybug.”

Marinette tensed. “I’m not.”

“I suppose not,” the man said, his voice still awkward but with relief, affection, and protectiveness starting to break through. “But you were. Nobody but Ladybug would be hell-bent to chase the hero and confront that abomination, and if you still were, you would have transformed by now. Now, I saw you antagonizing that monster for some reason, but there’s a couple of nice heroes that appear to be taking care of it. What are the odds that I can talk you into hunkering down somewhere _far away from any exterior walls_ until it gets taken care of by someone with superpowers?”

“Ladybug isn’t coming,” she said, “and the last I heard, Chat Noir retired. I think my friends Nathanael and Chloé might be the only ones available, and they’re going to need support. Nathanael has only done this once before, and he was the bad guy. And he and Queen Bee don’t exactly have a strong foundation of teamwork.”

The man sighed heavily. “Okay. Just this once, I’ll help. Let’s get to a fire escape and take a look, out of range. And keep those glasses on, you’ll need them, Ladybug.”

“Marinette,” she clarified, relying on a gut instinct to trust him, and taking the sunglasses off.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Marinette,” he replied. “I’m Félix.”


	13. Ungoliant, the First Monster - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He cast his eyes around, dragging a struggling Alya and looking for a safe place to put her. Chloé had been atop Le Grand Paris but Queen Bee had come back down; logically, either Ladybug or Master Fu was either up there, or had been recently, and even if they weren't any more, it was a safe enough, close enough place to stash Alya for the duration of the fight, so that he could get back to it quickly.
> 
> He wasn't going to share aloud that the Bee Signal was looking entrancing tonight.
> 
> STAY AWAY FROM THE BRIGHT LIGHT!!!!! Said Mightillustrator across the psychic link. IT'S HIGH VOLTAGE AND VERY DANGEROUS.
> 
> "I can't help that I'm drawn to it," he grinned, and the sting on his face as Mightillustrator facepalmed at his pun was totally worth it.

_“The trolley problem was first postulated by philosopher Philippa Foot in 1967, and presented a scenario in which a runaway trolley moved at high speed toward a large crowd of undefended people. You are at the switchboard, and can redirect it, saving the crowd of people but directing it to an onlooker who will not be able to escape in time. Later iterations raise the stakes by making the onlooker more morally poignant- the child of the decision maker, for example.”_

_Chloé scoffed. “Obviously, Ladybug and Chat Noir showed us how you solve the problem. You stop the trolley before[Vaudevillain ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210764)gets anywhere near any civilians at all.” _

_“Thanks, Chloé!” Lila said, sweet with poisonous honey. “Stop the runaway train! What a brilliant solution. And it’s a good thing Ladybug and Chat Noir are there to do it, because Queen Bee was the one who paralyzed the conductor in the first place.”_

_Chloé stood so quickly that her chair was knocked back, leaning heavily on the desk and preparing to physically confront Lila. “If you had any idea what these fights were actually like-”_

_“Chloé, stop!” Sabrina shouted, putting a hand on her shoulder and trying to get her to sit back down. Adrien was casting a nervous eye to the windows and door, and checked his phone the way that he did when he sometimes got a text from Nathalie announcing a last minute photo shoot and[had to go right now, immediately, for unrelated reasons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15597090/chapters/36212475). Marinette had leaned back, and was looking remarkably peaceful for the fight and almost certain Akumatization that was about to break out. _

_“Sit down,” Mme. Bustier commanded, and Sabrina righted Chloé’s chair so she could sit._

_“The trolley problem,” she continued, “is a specific ethical thought experiment among several that highlights the difference between deontological and consequentialist ethical systems. The central question that these dilemmas bring to light is on whether or not it is right to sacrifice the good of an individual if doing so protects the greater good. This is the kind of moral question Ladybug and Chat Noir have to weigh frequently in their fights with various Akumas, especially when the one person they might save may be of greater tactical or sentimental value than the more general population. If Ladybug or Chat Noir had to choose between saving each other, or saving thousands of civilians- which is the moral choice? Which one makes them more of a hero?”_

Chloé watched the Butterfly lift off, carrying a struggling Alya Cesaire that may or may not be Rena Rouge, and may or may not have found Ladybug, and hesitated just long enough for the slam of the sentimonster’s talon against the concrete barrier Mightillustrator erected just in time to make her jump.

“Little help here?” he asked, pen still moving frantically. “You can catch the highlights on TVi when we’re done, and any time it’s attacking you is time it’s distracted from the idiots your dad is trying to sell popcorn to, but I’d like to actually defeat it if I can borrow a minute of Her Highness’s time.”

_Sentimonster vs Akuma, but the Butterfly himself just took a hostage, and potentially a very important one, and Mayura is nowhere in sight. Is this all just the distraction from the bigger fight? Is that where Ladybug and Chat Noir are? Obviously the Akuma is going to want to keep me here, if this is the distraction, and the higher up the Butterfly gets, the harder Alya is to rescue._

Above her, the Butterfly was escaping, taking Alya hostage. He might already have Ladybug and Chat Noir.

In front of her, without her intervention, Mightillustrator was going to lose.

_Who’s the higher value target? What’s the more strategic choice? What’s the moral one? Where are Ladybug and Chat Noir? Where is Mayura? What’s the bigger game?_

 

* * *

 

Nino was never going to get over the visual whiplash of leaving the public spaces of Le Grand Paris and entering the service spaces.

Anything that could have appeared on TVi or Instagram was solid 24 karat gold, or diamonds, or silk, or marble, more palace than luxury hotel and far more expensive than even the Bourgeois family could have afforded for how few guests stayed there regularly; Nino wasn’t sure how the math worked out without Style Queen funneling vasts amounts of money into the Bourgeois estate and subsidizing the hotel’s operating costs. The kitchen, site of many of Alec’s reality shows, was similarly accessorized with the most modern and sophisticated equipment- Nino passed it first, as he entered the service corridors, and while it wasn’t made of solid gold, it still screamed affluence in ways that were as much advertising as pride.

But Alya had sorted the recycling at Le Grand Paris, and while by far not her favorite job, it had both completely disillusioned her to the concrete core under the gold facade at Le Grand Paris, and given her- and Nino, once she had the incentive to go spend time with Nino out of the public eye- a solid understanding of the bowels of the hotel.

Somehow, they seemed a little less fun to explore, without a giggling Alya by his side, and with the slam and clang of a fight going on overhead.

Room after room passed by Nino as he ran, deeper underground and toward the core of the basements. The route would have been simple in the elevator, but if the power was cut from the fight, he would have been helpless and trapped, so he followed the stairs- and the maze of rooms and alleys that allowed the employees of the hotel to move largely out of sight of the guests. Room after room was dark, abandoned; door after door opened, but only after a slight pause for Chloé’s key card. Every new segment of hall that he opened killed the lights in the previous one, and the functionally identical halls gnawed at Nino’s mind, telling him that he was lost, he was trapped, he was going around in circles, he was about to open a wrong door and accidentally walk in on the sentimonster. He had seen how fast it could move down a hallway or alley, when it chased Mightillustrator, and he was not transformed, there would be no butterfly to save him.

Turtles are slow.

Finally, the flicker of tiny lights past a glass panel indicated he had found the server room. The red light on the key pad flashed green, and the door clunked, releasing the lock and allowing Nino in. He took a moment to assess- the server room only had the one door, and Mayura still hadn’t shown herself- but he was alone. In the distorted reflection of the glass panels protecting the machines from dust contamination, his jacket was rumpled and skin sweaty from exertion, but he relaxed slightly. He was not in immediate danger.

He was too deep underground, in a concrete vault, to call for Max. Markov could potentially be anywhere there was an internet connection, if Nino had the time to summon him. Priority one was to shut off Mayor Bourgeois’s microphone. Priority two was to get the party-goers as far away from the sentimonster as possible. Priority three was to send out an SOS for Ladybug and pray that she and Chat Noir weren’t out of town on honeymoon. Nino squinted at each panel, trying to decipher what they did- lights, temperature, security.

Finally, the audio panel. Fancier than the one at Dupont or any of the fashion shows that Nino had worked, but close enough that he was able to figure it out.

Nino put his headphones on his ears, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

 _Calm your mind,_ said Wayzz’s voice in his memory. _You know what to do. Let the external fall away. That which is not relevant is just noise. Hone in on the music. Protect the people. Don’t get distracted by the complicated, when your job is so simple._

Nino pressed a combination of buttons he had never pressed before, and yet had pressed a thousand times.

The light indicating the connection to Mayor Bourgeois’s microphone turned off like a candle flame dropped in a bucket of water.

Above, XY dropped the beat, and Nino had never been more pleased to hear [bad dubstep](https://youtu.be/db4S4dMKlwQ).

 

* * *

 

_“Daddy tries very hard, but he’s old, he doesn’t understand technology,” Chloé said, handing Nino her key card. “He’s going to think he can just go to the DJ booth and use XY’s microphone instead. But XY doesn’t perform live. He records everything in advance, and lip syncs when he needs to say something. He might not even actually be in there. Bob Roth can’t let anyone know that, though, so he’s not going to let anyone in. But Daddy won’t be able to back down, either, especially because the election is tomorrow and Mom is going to be egging him on the whole time. Neither one of them will be willing to make enemies of each other, but neither one of them will be able to give up- their stalemate will buy you,” she turned to Alya, “a little time. You’re sure you can find Ladybug?”_

_“No,” Alya said, analyzing the camera feed she had never fully disconnected from the last day Hawkmoth had been active, the day Emilie Agreste had been dying. “But somebody has to, if they were waiting for a dramatic moment to show up for the victory party, they would never have let people get seriously hurt before doing it. Something’s wrong, and at last I have practice finding clues.”_

_“You can always get taken prisoner, and trust them to come rescue you,” Chloé said, and Alya looked up from her laptop angrily._

_Chloé shrugged. “You make a pretty good damsel. I think we’re pretty close to tied for the record for number of times Ladybug has rescued us- we and Chat Noir have a pretty good head start on everyone else. I always thought it was because Hawkmoth thought the Ladyblog was enough of a threat that he targeted you on par with the heroes. Maybe it’s just that Nino was better at evading.”_

_Her eyes lit up with sudden mirth. “He plays the shell game! Come on, sidekicks, look alive, I can’t be the prettiest, the smartest, the strongest and the funniest. You’re making me be both Ladybug and Chat Noir, and that’s not fair. You’ve got to contribute something.”_

_“Call it karma for all the group projects where Sabrina did all the work,” Alya muttered._

 

* * *

 

“I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain this in too much detail, since you’re just going to forget it all once Ladybug snaps your pen- or is it the tablet, this time? Not immediately urgent, since I’m not going to detransform you until that thing is dead, you might be stupid and incompetent but Nathanael would be both of those and also completely useless and you can at least give me weapons-”

“Do you have a point, or is this your attempt at banter? Because I actually prefer Butterfly Chat Noir, you’re really bad at friendly banter, Queen Bee. Actually, you’re just generally bad at friendship, so I’m not sure why I’m surprised.”

THANKS. AT LEAST SOMEONE DOES. OW, ALYA, THAT HURT! NO, I WILL NOT LET YOU GO. IF I LET YOU GO NOW, YOU’RE GOING TO FALL.

“Of _course_ you would prefer your Butterfly, why am I surprised, _ugh._ Well. You don’t have to like me or be my friend, you just have to listen and do what I tell you. Don’t you give me that face, you don’t get to yammer on about how you have no plan as you get outsmarted by a sentimonster that literally has no brain, and then reject the first plan that’s offered to you without even hearing it out.”

“I’m not rejecting your plan, I’m telling you to be less of a jerk when you’re offering it. I’ve told you, trying to punch it isn’t going to work, it’s armored.”

“This is a Miraculous weapon, I have no idea if it’s stronger than something you’ve drawn, and excuse me if I don’t want to waste the one time I can use my attack on a misfire!”

“Okay, fine, as far as I can tell, this thing doesn’t understand French, so what’s your plan? Just the plan, if you can handle that, save the commentary for Sabrina later.”

“Fine, if you were to save every cent you made as a starving artist, you might be able to afford to go to the restaurant at Le Grand Paris once, and if you ordered seafood, it would be served with a pair of tiny pliers. Stabbing directly into the exoskeleton wouldn’t work; but if you find the points where the different parts of shell are fused together and squeeze, having the armor be so inflexible would actually work to its disadvantage; it would break, instead of bending.”

Mightillustrator took a moment to regard Queen Bee. “That… actually might work.”

She scoffed. “Culture. You’re an Akuma, so you’re going to forget it once you go back to being Nathanael anyway, and if I actually cared about your bettering yourself, I’d tell you to take notes.”

DO YOU THINK IT MIGHT BE ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY DEFEAT IT?

“I don’t know,” Mightillustrator said, already beginning to draw. “But we’ve tried everything else.”

WELL, LET’S GET CRACKING.

“Can I just say how creepy it is that he’s in your head? I know you can hear him like he’s talking to you, but I can’t, and it seems like you’re talking to yourself. It’s honestly not doing a lot for your credibility. You look like you’re a raving lunatic. I’m almost hoping you do try for my Miraculous when we’re done, just so that people know we’re not working together.”

“Trust me, Queen Bee, everyone can tell that the only reason we even look like we’re working together is because we have no other choice.”

 

* * *

 

“Queen Bee and, is that Evillustrator?-”

“Mightillustrator, he’s a hero now.”

“Fine, Mightillustrator. They appear to be at a stalemate, but something has to happen to give them a win. That’s you, Ladybug.”

“Marinette.”

Félix smiled. “Trust me when I say, I’ve seen a few Ladybugs. Miraculouses don’t change personalities overly much, they just get rid of inhibitions. Your brain already knows how to solve this problem, the powers just give you a nudge.”

“But she gives me the right nudge. I don’t know what it is. You don’t, either, or you would have told me by now.”

“I don’t,” Félix said, “but I’m very good at breaking problems into manageable pieces. Ignore the particulars. Assume I know nothing about the fight that’s going on. How would you explain the objective to me?”

“It’s a sentimonster. There’s an Amuk in some object, which Mayura has made into a construct. Defeating the sentimonster itself is pointless, not even a Cataclysm would be enough. That’s why Mightillustrator and Queen Bee are focusing on buying time, disabling. We have to find what the Amuk has infected.”

“Any ideas?”

Marinette stared at the fight, from where they were hidden. Blades. Too many. A knife? A chassis. A car? She didn’t have enough information, and was too vulnerable to get a closer look than the ones she had already had.

“As far as I can tell, it came from Agreste Mansion, or close to it. I’m pretty sure the first victim was a member of that family.”

Félix flinched. Marinette frowned at him, confused, but he set his mouth in a hard line and didn’t explain. She didn’t have to offer going back to the mansion and searching it for something to destroy; it would take far too much time to search blind.

“It doesn’t matter,” she continued, “they need to be purified, and I’m not Ladybug. I don’t have my Miraculous.”

“Hawkmoth won?” Félix asked, scanning the alley. “Someone has the Butterfly.”

“I trusted the wrong person,” Marinette said sadly. “To be a little more fair, I gave my Miraculous to someone who I thought needed it more, but didn’t do a great job of explaining the danger. He’s the only person I’ve ever been wrong about giving a Miraculous to, and I was wrong twice. Maybe he’s just not meant to wield one.”

Félix took a moment to read her face. “I’m taking a wild guess,” he said, slowly. “But he’s a blond boy, about eighteen, you met as a civilian and developed a wild, unrequited crush on. Life keeps throwing you together in increasingly implausible circumstances that you can almost mistake for a relationship, but he’s a cold bastard and shuts out everyone, including you, and you hoped the Ladybug Miraculous would help him realize he does, in fact, have a heart?”

Marinette stared. “You were on point, until the last bit.”

Félix closed his eyes, and sighed heavily. “I suppose there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and I’m intrigued to try a new one. Okay. Ignore the Amuk for now, find your Miraculous. Does the boy still have it? Who does?”

Marinette looked back to Le Grand Paris, where someone on its roof was still tracking the Bee Signal to Mightillustrator like a spotlight. “I think it’s up there. And the Butterfly told me Chat Noir is in there, too. Ideally, he already has his Miraculous, but I would have thought if he did, he would have joined the fight by now.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Félix said, making sure to keep himself between Marinette and the sentimonster. “We’ll find out what to break to purify the Amuk later. I’m not really comfortable leaving the sentimonster for too long, anyway. How do you disable it?”

“It’s too slippery for a yo-yo to do any good, even if I had one,” Marinette pondered. “Tikki would help. Even knowing what my Lucky Charm would be, might be the nudge I need.”

Félix frowned. “Trust me on something?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“I’m not an idiot. Call for it.”

Marinette stared at him. “I’m _not Ladybug right now.”_

“Try it.”

Blushing furiously, she threw her hand up in the air, and announced “Lucky Charm!”

Behind her back, Félix caught something.

She whipped around, but he raised a shoulder and hunched over it, blocking the thing he caught from her sight. “What the heck is that?” she demanded.

“What do you expect it to be?” he asked back.

“I didn’t expect anything, because I’m _not Ladybug right now.”_

“But I caught something. It’s not Miraculous if you’re not getting a miracle, every so often. What did I catch? If you had to bet on it, and thousands of lives were at stake if you guess wrong?”

It had sounded heavy, a little unwieldy, and the rain masked the smell, but in the back of her mind-

“Bleach?” she guessed.

Félix turned, showing empty hands and grinning. “No. But that’s what you would have gotten, and I bet there’s some at Le Grand Paris. Let’s go get you your Miraculous, and on the way, you tell me what we’re supposed to do with bleach.”

 

* * *

 

Bridgette hated feeling helpless.

Her biggest priority right now was sitting with the unconscious woman next to her- she had never commanded Miraculous Cure, but maybe, just maybe, she was still lucky enough to spare some background radiation for a very unlucky family. So she fussed. She got the wheelchair ready, and packed a bug out bag in case she needed to leave in a hurry. She dressed her, adding a raincoat with a large hood to protect her face, and wiped down the hotel, removing as many fingerprints and as much identifying debris as possible. She left a generous tip on the nightstand, in cash. She dialed Master Fu, _again_ , but it went to voicemail. The Ladyblog had put up an SOS, and TVi was covering the fight from a safe distance, but her pent up energy was threatening to boil over. She hated not being able to prevent Félix from meeting Claude, Allegra and Allan tonight, but she couldn’t risk calling him and putting him in danger if the sentibeast was near him.

Her phone rang, and she answered before the first peal even ended.

“I love you,” she told her husband, in one syllable.

“I love you, too,” he reassured. “I’m safe, and I have a friend with me. Where are you?”

“Sebastian? Master Fu? _The Kwamis?”_

“Ladybug.”

A massive smile split Bridgette’s face. “ _No._ Are you serious? Every time I think you can’t get unluckier, you surprise me.”

_“I’m not her cat.”_

“Darn right. Don’t make me put a microchip in you.”

“The only ring I am wearing is yours. Ever. You didn’t answer my question. Where are you? Is my family safe?”

Bridgette put a hand over her abdomen, and while it was still, she smiled anyway. “Present and accounted for. Concentrate on helping Ladybug and coming home to us safe.”

“Can I see you a little faster than that? We need an errand from housekeeping. Find us bleach, as much of it as you can.”

 

* * *

 

They were far enough up, by this point, that Alya couldn’t risk having the Butterfly drop her. But if he thought that meant she would stop struggling completely, he must be new to Paris. Alya was annoyed that she was following Chloé’s plan, _get kidnapped_ , but it’s not like getting kidnapped was a new enough experience to her that she froze up in terror and confusion any more.. After years of studying Akuma battle tactics, sometimes in a little more mortal peril than others, she had developed a Strategy.

“Look, will you at least tell me what this is all about?” she ventured. Supervillains loved monologuing, and both her Ladyblogger and Rena Rouge sides loved getting them to monologue. At the very least, she could tell Ladybug what their plans were; Alya might even get lucky, and manage to distract him long enough to activate her GPS and tell the Ladyblog where the Butterfly was. Alya was pretty certain that she’d seen Ladybug down by the fight, transformed or not, but it’s not like the GPS wouldn’t help for _after_ the sentimonster was defeated and the part of the fight that made her kidnapping relevant kicked off.

New to Paris he might be, but new to fighting, maybe not. “Easy.” he said, and he was so likeable, Alya felt like she had known him for years. “I’m rescuing you.”

“You’re kidnapping me,” she insisted, and while she knew it was true, the weird, almost secondhand positive impression was hard to shake.

“Fine,” he said, and she heard the smile in his voice even if she couldn’t see it from where she dangled. “I’m kidnapping you away to somewhere you will easily be able to escape, but it will be inconvenient for you to get back to the sentimonster while it’s still a threat. Top of the Eiffel Tower work for you? The elevator isn’t running right now, so you’ll have to take the stairs, and there’s a lot of them.”

Alya glanced over, shielding her eyes as much as possible through the rain. “Absolutely not,” she said. “The top of the Eiffel Tower is as clear a trap as I’ve ever seen.”

“Fair point, but that rules out most major tall or deep landmarks, and I’m sorry, I’m not comfortable going too far horizontally away from the sentimonster. How about here? It’s the best bakery in Paris, but has nothing on how sweet the owners are.”

Alya looked down, and wondered how the Butterfly knew the Dupain-Chengs.

“Remember,” he said, setting her down and landing gracefully, “stay here. Please. The awning isn’t the best shelter, but at least you won’t catch pneumonia. I’m guessing you already know where the snacks are. Please wait until after the fight to call them to have them unlock the trapdoor; I’d rather as few people out in the storm as possible.”

“Thank you, Butterfly,” Alya said, looking around and confirming that there was no trap waiting for her. “As kidnapping experiences go, this was actually pretty nice.”

“Thank you! Now, if you’ll be okay, I have to get back to the sentimonster.”

“Oh, but one thing before you go?”

“Yeah, what do you need?” he asked, turning his head and smiling encouragingly.

Alya almost felt bad about punching him in the face, as hard as she could, especially since it apparently only took one punch to knock him out.

She blinked down at the crumpled mess of Butterfly sprawled at her feet. Without the bravado, he looked almost sympathetic, and rather pitiful in the downpour. Illusion taught her to analyze the situation; if he woke up, she was now a much less sympathetic hostage, and the subconscious, almost second-hand positive impression was almost certainly the side effect of some Akuma or another. She couldn’t afford to let him keep that brooch.

Subtle fingers found the pin clasp holding his Miraculous to his cardigan, and flicked it open.

Bright wings fell.

So did Alya’s jaw.

“You are in _so much trouble_ ,” she told an unconscious Adrien Agreste, trying and failing to think of a way to break this to Nino and Marinette.

 

* * *

 

“Come here, you hideous abomination,” Mightillustrator coaxed from across the glass barrier. Queen Bee rode the sentibeast, cranking a wheel attached to the massive nutcracker clamped around it. “The spidery one, anyway. Bee, you stay where you are.”

“Ugh, one fight, and suddenly you’re a sketch comedian. Laugh it up, Kurtzberg. I am and always will be Queen Bee, but you’re useful precisely as long as Hawkmoth 2 decides you are and then you’re as utterly ordinary as you were the day you were born.”

“Alternatively,” Mightillustrator mused, poking the sentimonster’s belly with a giant spear and making it rear, helping Queen Bee’s clamp apply pressure. “I made a deal, and the Butterfly appears to be keeping up his side of the bargain. I attract the sentimonster off to where it can do the least damage, and the Butterfly keeps the people I care about the most-“

The clamp and glass wall disappeared.

A white butterfly flew out of Nathanael’s pen.

“...safe,” Nathanael whispered, staring in horror at the sentibeast that had been rearing over Marinette, poised to strike him the way it had loomed over her. He wasn’t sure how they had switched places, but was fairly certain he would never have time to find out.

As far as last thoughts went, _Where is Marc?_ wasn’t bad. _I wish I would have had the courage to tell him_ , though, was pretty pathetic, all things considered.

 

* * *

 

_Trolley problem. Ballroom full of idiots, or one brave classmate?_

_Friend?_

_What’s the moral, heroic choice?_

Queen Bee hesitated for too long, which was, itself, a choice.

The sentibeast leaped, driving its sharp, harpoon-like legs into the glass doors of Le Grand Paris, which exploded. Queen Bee hit her head on the concrete frame of the door, and fell off, dazed, probably concussed, and too slow to stop the sentibeast from wriggling the rest of the way inside.

In the ballroom, the guests began to scream.


	14. Ungoliant, the First Monster - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens to a Paris with a homicidal rampaging Sentibeast... but no Miraculous Cure on the way?

 

The storm was wild enough for Nathanael to catch the tiny white butterfly in his blazer with ease. He carried it carefully to shelter and laid his tablet and pen next to it.

He forced himself to watch the Sentibeast rampaging in the ballroom, the people crowding too-narrow doors and stopping each other from escaping, the collapse of the Grand Staircase, the attempts to break the gigantic windows and escape that way. He surrendered to the full force of terror and sorrow that threatened to drown him like the butterfly in the rain. He Felt A Strong Emotion, because that was what The Butterfly needed.

“Multiply,” he asked it, almost like a prayer.

 

_Au claire de la lune, papillon, mon ami,_

_Prête-moi ta plume, un mot que j’écris!_

_Ma chandelle est morte, je n’ai plus de feu,_

_Ouvre-moi ta porte, pour l’amour de Dieu._

 

Queen Bee realized that she had died when Ladybug and Chat Noir greeted her at the gates to the Afterlife.

She was glad she was going to the same Afterlife they were in. She hadn’t thought she would.

They stood over her, conversing distantly. Their faces were fuzzy, but the red dress and black tux were unmistakable.

“I’m tired,” she said, around a tongue that wasn’t working right.

Ladybug pushed something into her hands. “We need you to be a hero tonight,” she said. “You’re the only one who can save Paris.”

“Then Paris is doomed,” she said. “I tried. I suck at it. I failed.”

“Fail again,” said Chat Noir, but that was wrong, that wasn’t what Chat Noir would have told her. [Queen Bee supposed that the one thing that never survives the Afterlife was a sense of humor](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deadpool_\(film\)), and that was a shame; Chat Noir was completely different without it. She preferred the one she met on Earth. It was okay to admit it, now that he was dead. “Fail tomorrow. Fail for the rest of your life. But don’t fail tonight. Don’t fail the people who are counting on you.”

Ladybug bent and whispered in Queen Bee’s ear what she had to do. Her voice shook, as she warned her of the danger and begged her to be okay.

By the time Queen Bee felt steady enough to sit up, they were gone.

They didn’t take her with them.

 

_Au claire de la lune, Ladybug est triste:_

_Je n’ai plus de bijoux, je n’ai plus de magie._

_Va chez la voisine, je crois qu’elle y est_

_Car dans sa cuisine, on bat le briquet._

 

Myléne hid in a corner underneath the collapsed staircase of Le Grand Paris, and waited to be picked off.

Hawkmoth was terrifying, she had known that for years. Hawkmoth was insidious. He gave no one in Paris a single moment’s emotional privacy. Ivan didn’t ever have a chance to soothe her without also keeping an eye out for butterflies; she never had a chance to reassure him, without watching his back, too. Hawkmoth could and absolutely did use the most private fears and deep-seated insecurities against anyone and everyone in Paris, and even if Ladybug could purify the damage they did as an Akuma, they still had to deal with the social fallout from problems that honestly would have blown over if Akumatization hadn’t thrown them into sharp relief. Hawkmoth came after the children of Paris, when their parents had tucked them into their own beds and kissed them goodnight, and Myléne felt no safer even when sleeping in Ivan’s arms. Hawkmoth hunted his prey in empty elevators, in bathroom stalls, in helicopters high above the ground. He would hurt and humiliate anyone and everyone, and force them to hurt and humiliate the people they cared about the most, in his war for the Miraculouses.

But the war for the Miraculouses had never felt like a war, until tonight.

Ivan had promised her that she would be safe, could make herself small and quiet enough to hide, and begged her to let the Sentibeast go after the bigger, louder crowds. He had kissed her goodbye, because the space was not big enough for him, too, without betraying where they were. He had promised to come back safe and sound.

But the big crowds were gone, now. Those that could had escaped out the bottlenecks of the hallways into the hotel, or out through the front door. The less lucky had been hit by falling debris, or the Sentibeast had gotten them. It was too much. It was a nightmare. It was

_Smelly wolf, smelly wolf, stinky breath and slimy--_

The Sentimonster moved more quietly now, stalking rather than leaping and shrieking, like it knew before that the way to draw out its prey and make them panic was to be a spectacle, and the way to catch them now was to be silent.

_Smelly wolf, smelly wolf, trapped in the stinky hut--_

There were too many screams, too much falling rubble, for Myléne to hear the talons as distinct noises, but the tap, tap, tap made it sound almost wounded.

It definitely cursed under its breath in a voice that sounded a lot like Chloé’s, though, and that gave Myléne enough courage to open her eyes.

The Sentibeast turned on Queen Bee slowly, as if intrigued that she was still alive. She looked like she didn’t quite believe it herself. The suit was indestructible, of course, but filthy from the fight and the storm. Her hair was sopping wet, and snarling out of its ponytail. She rested her arms on her knees, leaning over heavily as if standing was taking most of her remaining energy. Her breathing was heavy and ragged. She regarded the Sentibeast, which started to cycle the gears in its mandibles, slowly at first, then speeding up like a food waste disposal in a sink.

“No more,” she said, and called for her Venom.

The Sentibeast moved as if to churn through her like a wood chipper, and rather than run or dodge, Queen Bee punched the arm that held her trompo elbow-deep into the Sentibeast’s maw.

Myléne couldn’t help it. She screamed, closing her eyes in fear and shrinking in on herself. The scream betrayed where she was, so she was certainly next; she shook, and waited to die.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The presence that knelt beside her was flesh, not machine.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Queen Bee said. “If I had seen you, I would have warned you. Ladybug told me it would be okay.”

“Where is she?” Myléne asked, sniffling, and Queen Bee stiffened.

She said nothing, for a moment, then leaned over and hugged her awkwardly. She still had both arms.

“She’s with us, always,” Queen Bee said. “And she wants you to be brave. Do you want to help me stop chromedome over there permanently? It’s fine if you don’t, but I think it’ll make you feel better to know that it’s never going to move again.”

Myléne nodded, and opened her eyes.

Queen Bee stood, woozily, and pulled Myléne gently to her feet. This shifted her balance, so Myléne ended up having to support her, too. Together, they made their way to the table where, an hour ago, the Dupain-Chengs had greeted party-goers and offered a sampler from their bakery; the display was now covered with debris and the food was inedible, but Ladybug had promised that there was a jug of bleach on one of the chairs, and there was.

They found a hose in a supply closet. They made a funnel by cutting open a water bottle.

“Two minutes left,” Queen Bee said, checking her Miraculous in one of the bigger shards of mirror that were left from the previously opulent ballroom.

Myléne helped Queen Bee climb the immobile but slick Sentibeast’s back, and then passed her the bleach, the hose, and the funnel. It took some fumbling and a bit of mess, but they managed to get most of it into a gas tank hiding along its side.

“How much time?” Queen Bee asked.

“We’re almost out,” Myléne said.

Queen Bee closed her eyes. “You want to run, now,” she said. “We don’t know how different this sentibeast is from a normal vehicle. If the bleach corrodes the gas tank first, the fuel is gone and the Sentibeast doesn’t start back up. If it reaches the engine first, it explodes. Run.”

“You’re about to detransform,” Myléne protested, horrified. “You won’t survive the explosion.”

“I’m not going to make it down in time to run,” Queen Bee said, “and I’ll slow you down if you try to help me. I was never going to survive this fight, that’s why I didn’t have instructions to give back the Miraculous when I was done. I was told to give it back to Ladybug, and she’s dead. But you can still survive. Go.”

Myléne realized that Queen Bee was crying.

_Smelly wolf, smelly wolf, stinky breath and slimy drool--_

“I don’t have time to get far enough away to survive either, if it explodes,” Myléne said. She was terrified, but there was a certain clarity to knowing there was no point in running or hiding any more, just waiting for the next sixty seconds to come, and dealing with the rest if she was around to see it. “And I’ll feel safer with a hero by my side.”

Queen Bee didn’t bother to hide her crying any more. Tears racked her body, and she crumpled her shoulders forward, hugging herself, sobbing and shaking and waiting to die. Gold washed over her, and a little yellow sprite fell into Chloé's waiting hands.

Myléne sang to her hero as the Venom wore off, and the Sentibeast whined drunkenly, steam putt-putting out of its smokestack. It dragged razor-sharp metallic legs against the marble floor, but could not raise or stab.

She sang until it was still.

 

 _Au claire de la lune, un homme_ _désespéré_

 _Frappe sur une porte, chez le_ _guérisseur._

_“Qui frappe sur ma porte?” Le guérisseur a dit._

_“Ouvrez-moi la porte, sauve-elle de ce nuit!”_

 

“This is a hospital, not a watch party,” Gabriel explained to the receptionist, being careful to keep his voice patient and civil even as his inner Hawkmoth threatened to take over. If Emilie’s life depended on his minding his manners, he would be the very picture of genteel aristocracy. Vengeance could always be served cold.

The receptionist leaned over his desk slightly, turning away from the live TVi broadcast, and shrugged. “It’ll keep.”

“Excuse me?” Gabriel asked. “At least triage her. I haven’t seen a single doctor or nurse since we arrived.”

The receptionist closed his eyes, but Gabriel didn’t need his Miraculous to tell that the receptionist was rolling them. “I know you leave your home rarely enough that you’ve probably never gotten caught up in an Akuma attack before, but this is something we’ve learned years ago. Your wife looks like she was wounded by the attack at Le Grand Paris. Her concession speech, probably. That’s actually very promising for her prognosis. A Miraculous Cure will put her back, good as new. But if we take her into surgery, any procedure we complete for her will count as medical, not Miraculous- related. It will make the damage permanent. Your wife will probably want to go back to being a movie star, when Mayor Bourgeois wins tomorrow, and it’s going to give her a scar that will look like a botched Caesarian section if we put our most skillful surgeons on it. It will probably cause her chronic pain. I know it’s upsetting, but the best thing we can do for her right now is wait for Ladybug to do her job. There’s a broadcast in the foyer, if you want to see right along with us when she arrives.”

“You’re not even going to stabilize her?” Gabriel asked, horrified. “I bandaged her as best I could, but I’m no medical professional. She needs a doctor.”

The receptionist had the audacity to shrug. “People can use slings or dressings, I guess, but anything modern medicine does messes with the Cure. If it was a stroke or poisoning or something, there would be no better time for her to see a medic; Akuma attacks are the only time we get breaks, since no doctor here is as good at restoring Akuma-related injuries as Ladybug. But your wife absolutely must not be brought into surgery. Nothing has happened tonight that a Miraculous Cure cannot fix, and Ladybug and Chat Noir are on their way.”

On the screen in front of them, people lay dying.

“Ladybug has been conspicuously absent tonight,” he said, his voice slightly more clipped than before. “What happens to the injured if she doesn’t make it in time?”

The receptionist worked his mouth into a smile, as if in sympathy. He handed Gabriel a trifold brochure from a rack that was more than halfway empty. It looked like the original had once been a glossy, professional document, but it had been photocopied, and then the last photocopy had been photocopied, and gone through so many iterations that the one in Gabriel’s hands was grubby, impersonal, apathetic.

“Have you made arrangements, just in case?” the receptionist asked. He sounded like a teenage babysitter agreeing to check under the bed for monsters for the thousandth time. He sounded like the question no longer had any emotional significance to him.

“How many times have you had this conversation?” Gabriel asked, not realizing he had spoken aloud.

The receptionist looked tired. “I have faith in Ladybug,” he said. “She has never let us down before. People still worry, and end of life planning is always good to have in place just in case, but honestly, I’m shocked that Hawkmoth has never made an Akuma from someone watching their loved ones be injured by an Akuma. You don’t want to be that Akuma. Have faith in Ladybug. She’s on the way, she always is.”

_Anyone with my resources would have done what I did, to save their loved ones. Wouldn’t they? It was worth the cost. Wasn’t it?_

He brought his mind back to Emilie, who was still peacefully under the influence of the rather more extensive than usual first aid kit she had waiting in the basement, but needed a professional as soon as possible.

“My name is Gabriel Agreste,” he told the receptionist. “This is my wife Emilie, who, regardless of whether she wins or loses tomorrow, has maintained that the danger has not, in fact, passed, and was proven right tonight. I am her power of attorney. Treat her as if she had sustained normal trauma. I will sign whatever waivers I need to. Mayura is still at large, and you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to take the chance on luck.”

 

 

_Au clair de la lune, on n´y voit qu´un peu :_

_On chercha la plume, on chercha le feu._

_En cherchant d´la sorte je n´sais c´qu´on trouva,_

_Mais j´sais que la porte sur eux se ferma_

 

The sun rose on a city still waiting for a Miraculous Cure that never came.

Across the city, people died.

Emilie Agreste woke up in the only occupied hospital bed in Paris. She had defeated Andre Bourgeois by a landslide. Unbidden, Lila Rossi's report of her opponent's strategy fluttered feather-light through her mind:  _The key to winning in politics is ruining your opponent’s reputation._

 

_The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout_

_Down came the rain, and washed the spider out_

_Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain_

_And the itsy-bitsy spider went up the spout again_

 

The first thing Adrien did upon waking on his girlfriend’s balcony is check for his Miraculous. It was in his hand, instead of over his heart, and that was ominous.

“Welcome back,” Nooroo said. “I worried about you.”

“I’m so glad you’re still here, little buddy,” he said. “What happened?”

Nooroo looked at him with wet eyes. _I promise, it’s not your fault,_ he told Adrien, but Adrien could tell that he was trying to tell it to himself as well.

The first article on the Ladyblog was somber coverage of the slaughter at Le Grand Paris, and as he read, the empathic link threatened to overwhelm him with the sheer human misery he had not been able to prevent.

In time, he scrolled his phone down, to the next article. Alya had found a still from Nadja Chamack’s footage, of his dive to save her from the Sentibeast’s talons. He looked like an archangel. She had named him Bombyx Ahimsa, the Peace Silk Moth.

_Nino and I know. We don’t understand, but we love you. I’m not going to publish an expose, but you owe me an exclusive._

Forgotten, a tiny box that had rolled out of a pocket sat in a corner of shadow. The rain had saturated the black leather, but the tiny gold bell shone like a star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the silver moonlight, butterfly, my friend,  
> I would now a word write, please lend me a pen!  
> Candlelight has vanished, and no fire I see,  
> Open wide the door, then, if you care for me.
> 
> In the silver moonlight, Ladybug answered:  
> I don’t have the earrings, I’m surprised you haven’t heard.  
> Go and see the neighbor, I believe she's in  
> I just saw a light burning bright in her kitchen.
> 
> In the silver moonlight, a man with naught to lose  
> Knocks loudly on the healer’s door, hoping not to be refused.,  
> “Yes?” The healer asked, and the man yelled a reply  
> “Let me in, I beg of you, or she shall surely die!”
> 
> In the silver moonlight, one could barely see  
> The pen was looked for, the light was looked for  
> With all that looking, I don’t know what was found  
> But I do know that the door shut itself on them.


	15. Ungoliant, the First Monster - Epilogue

Four hundred kilometers in the air, a perfect sphere containing a tiny spider popped. The spider’s internal systems instantly depressurized, killing it painlessly, and the Amuk that had possessed it purified itself.

“Time to find my man Adrien!” said The Bubbler, proud. “We can’t have him be late to his own engagement party.”

UM… said Borboleta, in his mind. BABE, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU THIS…

The Bubbler frowned. “Uh-uh. No way. You promised. You’re freaking out. I’M freaking out. What’s going on?”

WHY DON’T YOU COME GET ME, AND I’LL EXPLAIN? Borboleta offered.

“That’s a good idea!” The Bubbler said, relaxing. “You should come too. Everyone in Paris is going to be there to help them celebrate. He had a crush on his girlfriend Marinette since lycee, but he didn’t know it was her because [he met her online, he said something about a chat room](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312581/chapters/21106184)? All this time he thought it was unrequited, and _she_ thought her crush on _him_ was one-way, and they were just cycling around and around and around each other for years! But that’s okay, he’s going to pull out all the stops tonight, they’re going to go up to the roof of Le Grand Paris in the middle of the party and he’s going to have little rosettes and candles set up, and Clara Nightengale is going to sing where they almost starred next to each other in the music video and it’s going to be on the speakers, and Andre the ice cream man is going to come in and serve them sundaes that are clearly for _each other_ , and there’s going to be fireworks and release thousands of white butterflies into the sky, it’s going to be _epic._ ”

BUBBLER, SWEETIE, I KNOW NOBODY LOVES A GOOD PARTY AS MUCH AS YOU, BUT CONTEXT IS IMPORTANT.

"Adrien is the best of people and deserves his party to be perfect," Bubbler insisted. "If you knew him, you'd agree."

Borboleta paused.

HE’S A LITTLE UNCONSCIOUS RIGHT NOW, she said, as if breaking it to him gently.

The Bubbler frowned thoughtfully. “I’d hate to waste all the hard work we put into it,” he said, “and it was supposed to be so special. Maybe we can just do it Weekend at Bernie’s style?”

Borboleta seriously considered withdrawing her butterfly before The Bubbler could pick her up from the bakery. He was giving her a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE THIS STORY ENDS HAPPILY. There is no major character death in Echidna.
> 
> I'm about to go on a hiatus to write the entire next arc, and ideally will post new chapters weekly once they're available. It's tricky, because of the Liar, the Actress, the Illusionist, The Propagandist, and the Truth, so I'm going to try to take my time. Ideally, I'll be finishing Home Owlone in the meantime, which is decidedly less homicidal.
> 
> I promise Paris will be okay.


	16. The Panopticon, Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agreste Mansion has an unauthorized guest, and this time, Gabriel is prepared.

1, vibrated the smart watch on Gabriel’s wrist, waking him. Exhausted physically and emotionally he may be, but he slept lightly, now.

3, it insisted, alerting him of someone unlocking the security system using an old password. Nathalie knew the Agreste Mansion security system possibly better than even he did, but if Mayura thought Gabriel Agreste was helpless without his Miraculous, she was fatally mistaken.

9, tapped his watch, and he kissed Emilie’s forehead. She murmured, but did not wake.

7, as he reached for the loaded shotgun he kept below the bed. His slippers were silent.

1, as he walked to the bedroom door, and a vibration that notified him that the front door had opened. Blocking the door would have spawned a Sentibeast immediately, and Paris could not afford another massacre so soon after Ungoliant. He would have to subdue Mayura silently.

 _I love you,_ he thought to Emilie as he locked the bedroom, confirmed it was airtight and flightworthy, and sent it into the stratosphere, using the mayoral space research to carry rather more precious cargo. _I love you to the moon and back, to the edges of space, to infinity and beyond. You’re my universe, and I would break it and remake it just to see the stars in your eyes. I will love you long past the day the last life in the universe ends, and my love for you will burn as bright as the sun on the day the stars go cold. Sleep, my light. I have something I have to take care of first, but I’ll be back before you even knew I was gone._

He watched the bedroom disappear to the clouds, and wondered that Paris slept so deeply they would not notice.

_Now. Time to tie up some loose ends._

He moved like a ghost through silent marble halls, scanning for anything Amuk. The air was precisely as still, the scent as normal as his human senses could perceive, each shadow in its place.

 _Adrien’s room_ , insisted his gut. _She’s not hunting Emilie. She’s hunting Adrien._

For the first time that night, Gabriel smiled. Adrien hadn’t been home since Election Day, and if he had decided to return tonight, Mayura was in for a very nasty surprise. Gabriel had certainly been afraid enough, angry enough, that if it had been his younger self on the receiving side of these strong emotions, he would have woken up with a blinding headache and immediately scanned for danger.

Silently- Gabriel was no fool- he slid open the door to Adrien’s room, and mused to himself what would have happened if he had taken a guess earlier and [removed Adrien’s ring as he slept](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7287349/chapters/16548136), long before any of this.

“I would have woken up,” Bombyx said from where he perched on the sill of the open window. “I would have figured out who you really were. I would have grieved, but Nino’s family would have adopted me in a heartbeat. I would have had a childhood.”

He spread his massive, shimmery wings as if to take off.

“How do I fix this?” Gabriel asked him. “I’m sorry, and you can Feel my sorrow, but you don’t want my apologies. I surrender, but taking me in now ruins your mother politically. Mayura is far too dangerous for us to not put up a united front, and it’s my fault that we haven’t. What can I do for you, to help you trust me?”

Bombyx regarded him, and Gabriel recognized the kind of walled off, vapid expressions that had driven Vincent insane. The kind of neutrally pleasant expressions he had expected of him, Gabriel realized, and never interrogated what actual emotions might be concealed behind them. In that moment, both men were simultaneously Butterfly and entomologist.

“You were plotting how easily you could have taken Plagg, less than a minute ago. Your relationship with me has been defined so completely by your trying to steal my Miraculous for so long, you don’t know how to stop. And that’s a gun. I want to trust you to have my back, but how can I, if I can’t even trust you not to stab it?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel answered, trying to be as honest as he could. “But you don’t have to. I don’t have to tell you how useful the Collector would have been against Ungoliant.”

 _YOUR FAULT,_ came the wave of Strong Emotion, hitting Gabriel so viscerally it felt almost physical. Was it his own guilt, reflected back on him? Was it Bombyx’s judgement? It was impossible to tell, impossible to think. _YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR-_

“You know,” Bombyx said, “I was so afraid of being Hawkmoth, because I thought it would fundamentally change how I saw people. There’s only so much watching for Akumatizing emotions you can do, before you start to think of people as strategies, as tools. But Ladybug has been distributing Miraculouses for years, and Marinette has some of the most fundamentally human relationships I’ve ever seen. It’s not Nooroo making you see people as tools, it’s you. Was that all I ever was to you? _Useful_? Did you ever actually love me at all?”

“I’m too strong of an ally for you to just reject for moral reasons,” Gabriel said, trying to compartmentalize Bombyx’s doubt and not let it bleed over into his own mind.

“I can’t trust you.”

“Then why did you come back?”

The edge of Bombyx's mouth twitched upwards in a smile that was not happy, and he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Bombyx touched down on the roof of Le Grand Paris, and detransformed. Adrien reached into a pocket of his gray leather jacket, and retrieved a small bottle of soda, which he opened for his kwami.

He slumped against a wall, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

“He really was sorry,” Nooroo said, quietly.

“I know,” Adrien said, “I Felt it, too. But if there’s anything Chameleon and Oni-Chan taught me, it’s that sometimes relationships are toxic, and the best thing you can do is shut them down before they harm anyone.”

“He may be Hawkmoth, but he’s still your father,” Nooroo murmured, subdued. “And you love him.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said. “I do. Why can he only Feel the negative emotions, Nooroo? Why couldn’t he tell?”

“Can he tell the difference between your “I’m sorry, and I love you,” and his?”

Adrien opened his eyes, and regarded his Kwami. Nooroo was tiny and adorable and had been functionally enslaved by a human for years, but Transmission was was born the day Creation and Destruction met, and his eyes had been ancient before the first human walked on hind legs. But looking into the eyes of the third oldest being in the universe didn’t make him feel insignificant; it did the opposite.

“How did this family get so broken?” Adrien asked, sadly.

Nooroo sat in Adrien’s lap, and snuggled against him. “It’s the way Wishes go,” he said. “I never thought I’d have to explain to a Cat that sometimes things that are decaying slowly need a clean break before they can be fixed.”

Adrien’s smile was genuine, and he reached into his other pocket to retrieve Sock Plagg. _“Cataclysm!”_ he said, mimicking Plagg’s voice, and Nooroo shrieked in delight, reaching for him. His joy was infectious.


	17. The Panopticon - Part 1

_ Bad luck, Felix realized too late, didn’t mean dying for stupid reasons, dying because he was inadequately prepared or his strategy failed or his enemy was simply too strong, or that he’d cast the dice and ended up snake-eyes. Bad luck was being the last one standing, surrounded by debris and corpses and knowing that it was your fault, because your bad luck bled over onto the people where it would have had the most effect. Bad luck was seeing the other end of the fight, safe and whole, and probably dying of old age surrounded by regrets and hindsight. _

_ The air was thick and rancid with smoke, as he methodically dug at the pile of rubble. Aristocratic hands unused to manual labor cracked, as debris rubbed against places where they had not formed calluses, and the dust and ash worked its way into the wounds. It burned, as the stonework sapped the moisture from his hands, grit working its way under his nails and into the weave of his suit, but he barely noticed it. _

_ He was distantly aware of other people digging at the wreckage with him, but no one from professional emergency services. There was no standard operating procedure for an apocalypse—no possible drill that could adequately prepare a city, a man, for the world to come crashing down. _

_ He couldn’t decide whether he wanted desperately to find Bridgette—or whether he would regret it the moment he did. _

_ A boulder that used to be beautiful stonework shifted, threatening an avalanche, and he quickly shoved a wedge into place, stabilizing it. He wasn’t sure whether anyone on the other side was alive, whether the care he was taking was in vain. He definitely didn’t want to call out for Bridgette, and risk her moving in a way that shifted the debris unexpectedly. He definitely didn’t want to hear only silence from her when he asked if she was all right. _

_ Focus. Somewhere beneath all this is Bridgette, and you’re going to bring her out. _

_ Had he been at this for hours? Days? Ten full years? It didn’t matter. He worked methodically, bringing order to chaos, as if his careful toil could restore the Destroyed architecture, put blood back in veins, and un-crush bones. _

_ He gave a very wide berth to the mushy, muddy water that used to be Melodie, until she suddenly, horrifyingly, disintegrated into nothing at all for no reason. He felt the static in the air that was whatever was left of Mercury, and his voice had long since gone hoarse from calling for Rakugo, whose body, according to Rene, was unresponsive in its safe location. If Sparrow pulled through from his hospital bed, it would just be cat and bird to solve whatever mystery was rampaging through Tokyo triggering Yokai and slaughtering people by the thousands, and Felix didn’t like his chances. _

_ The entire country of Japan was wrong, he thought as he continued to scratch at the unforgiving rubble. Black cats were bad luck, and bad luck to everyone whose paths they crossed, and this entire tragedy was his fault his fault his fault his fault his— _

Warm, the hands that took his in hers, and warm, the lips that kissed him awake.

Whoever they were, he pushed them off him, offended. The love of his life was alive, somewhere under the rubble and wreckage, his mind insisted, and these alien lips were unwelcome. She was alive, but cave ins were time sensitive, and the longer she lay there unconscious, buried, the less the likelihood that she would wake. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t ever give up on her, couldn’t leave her the way he had left Paris, not ever again.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s over.”

He woke to giant, ocean-blue eyes, bleary with sleep but concerned, and impossibly white, fluffy sheets.

He paused for a moment, uncomprehending.

“It’s over,” Bridgette said, touching her forehead to his gently. “You found me. Sparrow made a full recovery, and went to New York. The attacks stopped as suddenly as they started. We weren’t ever able to find out who was sending out the Yokai, or why people’s lives were spontaneously snuffing out, but it stopped. Hawkmoth appeared in Paris, and Akumas were different—tamer—than Yokai. We decided to stay in Tokyo, so we gave the Miraculouses back. We graduated. We got married.”

“You’re all right,” he said, convinced that this was the dream, and his Bridgette lay dying under the rubble in reality.

“I have been every time you’ve had this nightmare,” Bridgette said, squeezing his hands gently. “You can rest.”

The way she touched his fingernails was slightly painful, and he looked up. Sure enough, he had ruined another headboard, wearing his fingernails down scratching against it, trying to dig Bridgette’s ghost out of the rubble without daring to use a Cataclysm. They would have to scrub it to remove anything that would be able to identify them, and would not be able to leave the room as undetected as he had hoped. Destroying any part of Le Grand Paris that could not be blamed on Ungoliant was noteworthy.

The twinge of anxiety about being noticed in Paris drove home the reality that he was, in fact, in Paris, and he was awake enough now to notice that he was shaking. He brought her hands up to his face, and nuzzled them, then brought his hands down to her back, pulling her closer to him and lightly stroking along her spine. They were still digging people out of the rubble downstairs, where they couldn’t dare linger, but she was here, she was well, she had survived.

He breathed deeply, keeping his hands on her back, and was most of the way back to sleep, when he felt it, and all sleepiness fell from him instantly.

“Was that a kick?” Felix asked, quietly.

“Based on the ultrasound, probably more like a wave,” Bridgette said, and he didn’t need the night vision to know that she was smiling.

“We have a Maneki Neko?”

She nodded, and he could smell her tears of joy in the air.

He laughed, quietly, and pulled her on top of him, held her tightly, as if she was his world and the only thing that mattered in it, and she laughed, too, laughed as she cried and the impossibly white sheets tangled around them, binding them together. If he had been wearing Plagg’s ring instead of Bridgette’s, his shaking would have translated to a purr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Panopticon has enough of a buffer that I'm going to try to start posting weekends; I'll let you know if I run into further delays. Thank you for your patience <3


	18. The Panopticon - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stay out of sight, Trixx had told her, and that meant Juniper had to be SNEAKY. And that was going to be a lot of fun. Volpina got to fly, Rena Rouge got to jump, but Juniper was going to TIPPY TOE.

Art by ZiriO

 

 

Juniper wasn’t Rena Rouge, but Paris didn't need to know that.

 _Stay out of sight_ , Trixx had told her, and that meant Juniper had to be SNEAKY. And that was going to be a lot of fun. Volpina got to fly, Rena Rouge got to jump, but Juniper was going to TIPPY TOE.

Her toe beans were silent across the cobblestone roads, which were slick with rain. The silent pads on her feet were grippy enough that she didn't slip. To see if she could, she jumped up onto a wall along the edge of the Jardin des Tuileries, stretching her arms out to balance. Her pretty skirt and petticoats fluttered after her, and her poofy tail helped stabilize her, so she landed like a circus performer. This made her giggle, and she skipped along the edge of the fence, landing on tippy toe beans like a tightrope walker.

SNEAKY, she remembered, and smiled. She was already better at hide and go seek than her friends, but now she was going to be the best! And then she had an Idea, and gasped.

SHE WOULD BE SO GOOD AT SNEAKING IF SHE WAS INVISIBLE.

She baton-twirled her flute like she really was the Unicorn Princess of Reespa, and sparkles fell like fireworks in beautiful soft gold from either end. She raised it to her lips, and played a melody so beautiful that she was super sad she wouldn't be allowed to show anybody or they would take her Miraculous away and make her put it back on Alya’s pillow, even though it was Ella and Etta who had found it there, and she had won it from them fair and square, and that meant that it was hers now.

"Mirage!" she cried, pointing her flute straight up, because that’s how you used a magic wand, and from the tip of her flute to the tip of her toes, she disappeared.

Being invisible was SO MUCH FUN.

She was super quiet and even better at being invisible than Vanisher. She could even jump in a puddle and feel the water but not splash anything. She was so good at having a Miraculous and deserved to keep it. She was so sneaky she had no reflection in the puddles or the dark window panes, and she bet that if someone pointed their phone right at her and took a picture, it would snap right through her.

She had a sudden thought, and laughed with delight. What was the point of hide and seek if no one was looking for her?

She was going to find Ladybug and Chat Noir and Carapace and Queen Bee and sneak UP on them. She bet that she would be able to scare them. They were going to be so proud of how sneaky she was. And then it was going to be one of their turns to be the seeker, and they weren’t going to be able to find her no matter how hard they looked, because she was INVISIBLE!

She wasn’t sure where they were, but the magic ladybugs after every fight went straight up at the sky and then spread out across the city. So, she had to go up somewhere high and wait for them. Ella and Etta's house wasn't very tall, and there were trees in her neighborhood that would block the view, so she ran, superhero fast, to the Eiffel Tower. The steel beams on the outside were no farther of a jump up or out than the retaining wall, so she climbed it with ease, and it was the funnest jungle gym she'd ever climbed.

Her necklace was beeping and making her do a less good job of being invisible, so she wrapped her floofy-soft tail around it and shushed it. She loved her tail so much. It was a gorgeous amber color and so soft and fluffy and it was the best.

_Wait. Why could she see it?!?_

Instinct that was not Juniper’s made her LEAP for the closest landing, which was a big jump, a bigger jump than any of her other jumps, and she was scared she wouldn't make it, but she landed on the edge, splashing water from the puddle and drenching her jeans and sweater as she rolled to safety. She skinned her knees and the water made them smart.

"What was that for?" Manon yelled at Trixx, not bothering to be sneaky any more. “Nobody shouted olley olley oxen free!”

"You made an illusion!” Trixx told her. "You only get five minutes after you make an illusion before you change back. You have to be more careful!"

"I was being super careful," she said, "but I had super POWERS. I would have been fine if you actually gave me five minutes! That wasn’t even two. You tricked me."

"I would never!" Trixx pouted. "Minutes have been the same length of time since the Sumerians, and my heroes get five every time. Fair is fair."

"The new butterfly hero got a lot more than five," she said, stomping her foot. “That's not fair at all."

Trixx hummed sympathetically. "That's because he's a grown up," he said. "Grownups don't have a very good concept of how long five minutes are."

That was true, but didn’t make her feel any better. "Well, we're stuck here until I can change back and climb back down," she said. “Can I have five more minutes?"

It absolutely wasn’t because she had been having fun. She had important superheroing to do.

"Yeah!” Trixx said, and Manon smiled widely. “I just have to eat a snack first."

"Okay, that makes sense," she said, and paused.

She and her Kwami looked at each other expectantly.

“Are you not hungry?" she asked, eventually.

"I'm starving," Trixx said.

Another pause.

"So why aren't you eating your snack?" she asked.

"Because you didn't give me one," he said.

"Wait, why don't you bring your own snacks?” she asked. "You didn't tell me I had to bring the snacks!"

"Yes I did!" said Trixx, and he crossed his arms. "I wouldn't forget that, it's food!"

“But they're _your_ snacks," she insisted. "Why can't you bring your own?"

"Cause I don't have pockets," Trixx said, and he spun around to show her. Sure enough, no pockets.

“Can't you just keep some snacks in the Miraculous?" she asked. "I keep snacks in my room for when I'm hungry but I'm giving my mom the silent treatment."

"Nuh-uh,” Trixx said, “I can’t. You know how sometimes you go back and eat there and they make your tummy hurt? If I don't have a human I don't need to eat, and I forget how long they've been there, and then I need to go to the doctor. The only Kwami doctor in Paris says l'm not allowed to any more.”

“YOU'RE ILLUSION," she insisted. "I'm not allowed to have snacks in my room either! Just don't get caught! I sometimes eat my snacks under the blankets, and my mom says I’m a ghost but she doesn’t catch me.”

"Well it's not going to help now." Trixx said. "I don't have any food in there, and even if I did, I couldn't go back in without eating some first. You're going to have to find a snack for me out here in the world."

"But I'm halfway up the Eiffel Tower," she insisted. "It's not even a tourist area. There aren't any doors and I can't climb back down until I’m Juniper again."

For the first time since being a superhero, she started to get scared.

Trixx must have been, too, because he sat on her shoulder and nuzzled her gently. "It's okay," he said. "Somebody will notice you're missing soon and go looking, and the new Butterfly has wings. We just have to wait.''

They waited, scared, for a grown up five minutes.

 

* * *

 

"We're going to have to land soon," the helicopter pilot told Nadja. "Fuel tank is running low. This bird’s not intended to fly all night through this kind of weather. We're going to have to miss the magic ladybugs."

She frowned. "We're missing the scoop. Where were the heroes? Ladybug and Chat Noir haven’t shown up yet, and we have no idea what Mayura wants.”

"We're probably not going to see Mayura tonight," the pilot said, checking the console worriedly. At this rate, the only scoop we're going to get is the magic ladybugs doing their thing, and that's hardly a story."

Nadja took a careful minute to confirm that her microphone was off and cameras weren’t rolling.

"I'm just hoping the story isn't going to be their absence," she said, quietly. "Ungoliant hasn’t moved in four hours. Clara on the ground reports that it disappeared forty-five minutes ago. Nathanael Kurtzberg has been interviewed, and there aren’t any more Mightillustrators running around. Clearly the butterfly and feather have been purified. I’m not sure what’s keeping Ladybug from casting that Miraculous Cure.”

"She's coming," said the pilot, nervously.

Nadja chewed her lip, afraid to broach the subject.

"Have I lost my touch?" she asked eventually.

"What!" said the pilot. "Of course not. Why would you ever think that? You're brilliant and shouldn't let your impostor syndrome get you down."

"I'm not getting this out of nowhere, though," Nadja insisted. “I've been getting this feedback since the disastrous experiment with Face To Face. The Ladyblogger is an adult now, she's not in school. She was scooping me half the time when she was fifteen and has only ever gotten better with practice. She even apparently scooped me on both Hawkmoth's defeat and naming Bombyx. Alec has been teasing for years that she's going to make me old news, but there's only so many times you can hear something repeated before you start to wonder whether it’s true."

“Keep your chin up," the pilot said, and smiled encouragingly. "You only need one big scoop before you're back on top."

"But I don't have a ratings bar any more to tell me when I'm running out of time." Nadja said, staring blankly out into the Paris night. "I’m just going to show up to work one day and find out my key card doesn't work, and I'm going to be a target for a butterfly. What does Bombyx even want? Am I going to have to find that out from the Ladyblog too?"

"Not if you don't give up," the pilot said, and Nadja returned her smile. "You're a great reporter no matter what the Ladyblogger is up to, and I believe in you.”

"Thanks," Nadja said, and she began to scan the Paris night a little more actively.

On the Eiffel Tower, a person stood up excitedly, and began to jump and wave both arms to try to catch her attention.

"There!" she cried, pointing at them.

"Cameras rolling?" the pilot asked excitedly. "Mic on? This could be your scoop!"

_This could save my job._

_This could protect my family._

_Who is Ladybug? Are we finally about to find out?_

_Does she need a rescue? Am I going to be the civilian hero that saves her, and helps her cast her Miraculous Cure and save Paris?_

_...Would she want me to expose her identity?_

"No," Nadja said, and it broke her heart, but she wasn’t Prime Queen tonight. "In case that’s a hero, we're going to need their identities to stay secret. We land dark.”

 

* * *

 

Manon was so grounded.

"Why are you even up here?!?” her mom was yelling at her. "How did you get all the way up here? You’re a thirty minute walk from where you’re supposed to be! And how did you get here with no doors on this landing?”

Manon said nothing, thinking as hard as she could, but her mom wasn’t going to let her take her time.

“Young lady, I'm waiting!"

 _Illusion_ , Trixx whispered in the back of her mind. _Cast a Mirage._

“Um,” Manon said.

“Spit it out!” her mom demanded, so she did.

“I was doing the balance beam and wanted to practice,” Manon said, and her mom stared at her.

“ _On the Eiffel Tower?”_

“Well, my friend said that she did it, and I wanted to prove I could do it too.”

“You’re not friends with anyone who walks on a balance beam on the Eiffel Tower,” her mom said, and she was wrong but Manon couldn’t correct her, and that wasn’t fair. “How did you even get up this high?”

“I jumped.”

“Young lady, I did not raise you to lie to me!”

“I’m not!” Manon said, balling her fists, and it was so unfair she started to cry a little.

Her mom softened at that. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said, hugging her. “You just scared me so badly. Lila was supposed to be watching you and Ella and Etta over at their house! She must be worried sick! How did you get out without her noticing?”

“She’s not there,” Manon said, sniffing. “She left right after you dropped me off.”

“Now, I’m trying to give you a chance to tell the truth,” her mom said, “but if you’re going to tell me such a blatant and provable lie I’m going to have to ground you. You have until we get to Ella and Etta’s house to tell me the truth, but if Lila’s there and you don’t want to tell me what really happened, you’re grounded.”

“I don’t know,” Manon said, and hugged her mom. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you. I don’t know what’s the right answer.”

Manon’s mom took her hand, and led her back to the helicopter. “It doesn’t really matter,” her mom said. “What really matters is that you’re safe. Do you promise me you’ll stay safe?”

“Yeah,” Manon said, and squeezed her mom’s hand. She squeezed back. “I promise.”


	19. The Panopticon - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warm, glowed the ovens of the Tom and Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, as Sabine nestled an oddly detached Marinette in her room to recover from a harrowing evening and Tom busied himself at the work he did every morning for the last twenty years. This would be a morning unlike any of those, but the work was soothing. Sugar and flour, water and yeast, strength and guidance and love, and let rest. Mold and braid and allow to rise, and then into the oven to wait. Tom hated waiting, hated not knowing what he could do for Marinette, hated that not even Papa Garou could protect her from the inevitability of Death, hated stepping back and allowing things to work out in their own time, and so idle hands found butter and yeast and eggs and the bakery, again, was alive.

Warm, the smile on Sabine’s face—confused but delighted as Rolland pulled up in his ancient truck, and gruffly asked whether Germaine would be available to help unload.

“I saw your announcement on TVi, when they were pulling people out from what’s left of the hotel,” he said. “It’s really good of you, but you’re a human too—and a survivor, yourself—and sooner or later the shock is going to wear off and you’ll need to process what you’ve gone through eventually. Gina’s on her way to help run the counter, but I know how to stop a bakery from imploding if you and Tom need to take some time to step away from the counter and the kitchen.”

“I’m sorry, announcement?” Sabine asked, puzzled. “It was hardly the time for a press release.”

“You’re too kind for your own good,” Rolland said, “I’ve always said that about you.  Your kindness is just going to make your life harder in general. Instead of going home like a normal person, you stayed to shoo people away from your display table. Anyone with half a brain could tell that the food clearly had concrete dust and who knows what else all over it—and wasn’t fit for consumption any more—but you made sure to tell them anyways. Then, you told them they could stop by the bakery and you’d make it up to them—that your pastries were made with love.”

“That’s no announcement,” Sabine objected. “That’s basic food safety. My job is to make sure that when people choose to put our food into their bodies, it is safe for them to do so, and that it’s been prepared with as much heart and kindness as we have.”

Rolland sighed heavily, resting a huge hand on Sabine’s shoulder. “Word travels. Every single person in Paris today—even the ones that abomination traipsing around Paris couldn’t touch because they were fast asleep in their own beds—is having a very personal reaction to the attacks. The official list isn’t out yet, of who was injured or killed, and Ladybug is nowhere in sight. Everyone is going to feel like they’re one cookie away from a meltdown. If it’s anything like how the aftermath of World War II played out, it’s going to feel like a mix between the holiday rush and a refugee camp.”

The remaining color drained from Sabine’s face. “We’ll send provisions to the hotel, and give out free coffee and cookies to the survivors.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Rolland said, setting his jaw. “It would be an emotionally exhausting day even if you were at your best, and you’re not. You’re not a worse person for acknowledging that you’re a human, too, and taking care of your own needs. You’ll take care of yourselves first if I have anything to say about it!”

“You just said that this is Paris’s hour of need. If there’s something we can do to help, shouldn’t we?”

Rolland sighed. “Assume Germaine is at the hotel, singlehandedly trying to save Paris by distributing coffee and cookies, and then they dig Adrien out of the rubble. She’s going to need her parents. You’ll be at the bakery, you won’t be there for her because you’ll be making some stranger a chocolate croissant instead of taking care of your own daughter. Even crepes tear if you spread them too thin.”

“I’m sure he just stayed with his family,” Sabine said, but she heard the lie in her voice as she said it.  _ His father is protective enough he would never have let him go- but Marinette wound up at the hotel, and Adrien would never have left her unprotected. Gabriel is at the hospital with Emilie, and when we asked where Adrien was, he didn’t know. Adrien would have been at the hospital with his mother if he had stayed at home. _

“Let  _ me _ focus on production,” Rolland said in a low tone; the gentleness sounded alien, but was still recognizable in his voice. “I don’t like people and they don’t like me, but the beauty of wholesale is that I don’t have to. I can just bake the cookies and leave the peopling to someone else. I’m not going to be able to stop you and Tom from opening up your bakery if I wanted to—and you’d be  emotional wrecks by the end of the day—but at least I can make sure your stock doesn’t run out. And, if someone tries to give you grief for not being your very best when you’ve had a rough day yourself, I can be the bad guy who sends them packing.”

“Please don’t,” Sabine said. “People are typically pushy only when they have something else on their minds. It’s never actually about the bag of pigeon feed.”

“Or the rice flour,” Rolland said, squeezing Sabine’s shoulder and giving her a small smile. “It’s just that sometimes they don’t realize that at the moment.”

 

Warm, the blanket Sabine wrapped around Marinette’s shoulders, growing filthy from its contact with the ruined cocktail dress... and warm, the cocoa she gave her daughter. The mug had been a gift from Manon—a cheerful red clay she had accented by dipping tiny fingers in black paint and then poking spots into it, with careful, toddler love. It was enough to snap Marinette out of the shock she had been sustaining. She put the mug down rather harder than necessary, and folded her legs up into the fetal position. Wrapping her arms around them, she buried her face in the spot between her arms and knees.

“She’ll be okay,” Sabine said, holding her daughter tight. “Ladybug is a formidable young lady. There’s not a force in the world that can stop her from setting tonight right. She got caught by surprise, is all, and she’ll be ready for the next one. I’m sure of it.”

“What if she isn’t,” Marinette asked, so quietly that if Sabine had not been beside her on the couch, she would not have heard it. “What if she made a mistake, and now she can’t fix it, and everything is ruined and it’s all her fault?”

From the hitch in Marinette’s voice, it was obvious to Sabine that Marinette was not actually talking about Ladybug. She couldn’t fathom what mistake her daughter could possibly have made, but Marinette would tell her, in time.

“Even heroes are human,” she told her gently. “And they’re not gods. Ladybug has won enough battles for long enough—and her losses have been short term and small enough—that it’s a shock that she can lose at all, let alone lose anything that matters. But down doesn’t mean out. I still think the reason Hawkmoth and Mayura never showed up was that Ladybug and Chat Noir were fighting them somewhere private. A Miraculous Cure will happen at any moment, you’ll see.”

“How much time before you start to get nervous?” Marinette asked, so softly it almost got lost in her knees. “It’s been six hours since Ungoliant stopped moving. What if she didn’t spend any time preparing, and can’t call for help, and by the time she even realized there was someone to fight it was already too late? What if she’s just as helpless as everyone else?”

“This is Ladybug we’re talking about,” Sabine smiled. “She’s a strong, smart, tenacious young lady. Even if—and I doubt this—she got caught by surprise tonight, do you really think she’s going to let a night like this happen twice?”

_ She shouldn’t have let it happen once _ , Marinette thought, picking up her mug of cocoa.

“I think I’ll be okay,” she told her mom, and straightened out her legs to sit properly to prove it. “I’m going to take a shower and change. I’ll come down and help when I’m cleaned up.”

“Take the time that you need,” Sabine said, gingerly brushing aside the hair that had fallen into her daughter’s face. “You push yourself too hard. Grieve as much as you need to, we’ll be fine.”

The cocoa warmed Marinette’s insides as she made her way up to her bedroom, and fortified her as she regarded herself in the mirror. The Ladybug-red cocktail dress clung to her legs, and the smoke-smogged rain had dulled the satin’s shine, making her feel slimy and gross. The effect made her look drowned looking, defeated.  _ No amount of work and skill with a needle could give me the armor I need to be a real Ladybug, _ she thought, shucking off the ruined silk and chiffon; there was a limit to what Marinette could do.

_ Hello, old anxiety _ , her thoughts continued.  _ And here I was, thinking that Marinette and Ladybug were the same person—that all the confidence and courage I was rocking as Ladybug was just as much me as this is. What am I even, without Tikki? Did I learn  _ anything _ from Tikki at all? _

She knew what Tikki would say in this situation even without her Kwami being here.  _ Situations like this just have to be endured. The only thing you can do for Paris now is to support the citizens as best as you can. _

This time, Tikki’s words, confirming her own resignation, were met with defiance.  _ But what if I could do more?  _

_ No _ , she could almost hear Tikki telling her, sternness covering fear.  _ The universe must always stay in balance. For every action, there is a reaction. For every wish, a price to pay in return. _

A claw, stabbing through windows at random, sometimes shattering possessions, sometimes claiming lives. A city, screaming for a Ladybug that would not be able to save them on this night. A world, dangerously off balance. A cat, she had failed, and the degree to which she had unknowingly abandoned him weighing on her progressively more heavily as time went on.

_ What did Hawkmoth lose, that he decided that he could give the world to see right again? What was his existence like, that the whole world had to be the price for his Wish? _

_ I’m not Ladybug _ , she told a blond man that her subconscious couldn’t help but call an off-balance Chat Noir.

In the back of her mind, Marinette could still smell the bleach that was not a gift from Tikki, but was what her mind gave her, when the Chat Noir that  _ Wasn’t _ taught her to break a problem into something manageable.  _ They don’t call them Miraculouses for nothing. What if, occasionally, they gave you a miracle? _

_ This problem is impossible. It needs to be broken into manageable parts. _

_ No Ladybug, then _ , Marinette thought, drawing a mental white board for herself.  _ No Miraculous Cure without a Ladybug, no Ladybug without a Tikki. Tikki is in the Miracle Box, according to Adrien, according to Chat Noir, who probably heard it from Hawkmoth. Is Hawkmoth a reliable source to know anything about the Miracle Box? Can I even find him? Somebody else sent out an Akuma last night—Bombyx, Alya called him? He didn’t care about finding the Earrings or the Ring. Alya trusts him. What does he want? He wanted to transform me into Ladybug, to fight Ungoliant. Does that mean he wanted to defeat Ungoliant, or that he wanted a flashy demonstration of Ladybug getting defeated by it? What does Mayura want? Nobody ever said anything about Mayura surrendering, and Ungoliant certainly wasn’t talking. There’s a bigger game afoot, and I don’t have enough information yet to find out what it is. _

_ I need my partner. _

_ I should never have left him alone for so long in the first place. _

_ If he’s alive—and I pray he is—I’m going to save him. Even if I have to save him from himself. _

 

“No, you can't see the proprietors. They're humans, and it's a tragedy, not a receiving line. You can order your croissants and coffee, pay for them, and get out. Find someone else to do your emotional heavy lifting for you."

Marinette sighed as she fastened her apron. Her grandpa should never have been at the counter in the first place, but her parents needed a breather and he had been a good stopgap while Marinette psyched herself up to face the public she had failed.  _ Maybe this is a good opportunity to teach him to be a little nicer? _ she thought.  _ He probably talked to more people in the last hour than he has in the last decade, and they’re all emotionally vulnerable. _

"Of course you know the Dupain-Chengs. They know everybody. But just because they treat everybody like family doesn't make  _ you _ are their family. Are you going to order something, or just stand there like a drowned kitten holding up the line?"

"Grandpa, that's no way to talk to—" the color drained from her face as she walked through the door. " _ Adrien _ ! What happened to you?"

"I got caught out in the storm," he said, cuddling a drenched suit jacket closer to him as if it could warm him.

"But it's been dry out for hours." she said. "Haven't you been home?"

"I—I can't."

_ Emilie. Until he’s home, he doesn’t have to face whether she survived or not. _

"Let's get you inside," Marinette said, "I'll loan you some sweats. You can take a shower and clean up."

Adrien had been in Marinette's room a few times before, and the context was terrible, but Marinette was hyper-aware of Adrien's presence as he surveyed the room, visibly relaxing.

"I don't know if I ever told you," he murmured, "but when my mother disappeared, my father retreated dramatically from how active he had been in my life. I think he had been so afraid for me to see him weak, worried that his grieving would make mine harder, that he had preferred I not see him at all. Who makes a twelve year old carry them emotionally? So, he gave me every distraction a child could possibly want: huge windows for natural sunlight; every DVD and book I could think of; video games, dedicabs, rock climbing wall, skateboard rink... But it always felt like I was a hamster in a cage, and he was giving me trinkets and toys to stop me from being bored in my confinement. Your room is different—It wasn't built specially for me, but it's more of a home."

_ Don’t think about it too much. Just do it. _

She reached for his hand, and threaded her fingers between his, and he turned to look at her.

"I know it's early in our relationship,” she said, hesitating a bit, “and we're young, but I'd really like to make a shared space like this with you someday."

He smiled slightly.

“This isn't how I wanted to ask," Adrien said, shoving his hands into his pockets, and then paled.

“Adrien?” she asked. “What's wrong?"

"Nothing,” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets and smoothing his slacks down, then smiling. He didn’t quite look relaxed- whatever he hadn’t found in his pockets was clearly worrying him- but he also didn’t want to talk about it. “I wouldn't mind that shower and sweats, though. And, if you don't mind, some kind of fizzy drink?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am radically underprepared for the Valentine's Day update.


End file.
